something 'bout you
by don't boop my nose
Summary: football player, austin moon isn't a big fan of coffee or studying, but he sure is a fan of the starbucks barista with long brown hair with chestnut highlights and those big brown eyes. in fact, he'd like to shout for an encore all night long, preferably in his bed. austin/ally ooc.
1. Chapter 1

hello! it's been a while since i've posted anything so i'd like to say that i'm looking forward to posting more often. so, austin and ally has finished and it's sad as hell, i'll be mourning by picturing austin fucking ally every single day after they got back together. anyway, please enjoy! this will also be au, but i've really liked to imagine austin moon as a college football player and considering that ally will be studying at harvard and is looking forward to becoming president, i'd like to think she's into political science.

note: the story will be switching up point of views (between austin and ally). credit to the book "jockblocked" by jen fredrick; using most of the book but changing up some details just to make it more like the characters.

* * *

Ally

I flip my pen around my thumb again as I contemplate my mock trial dilemma. Should we include the expert in ice formation or the co-worker? _Flip._ Miles wants to go with the expert because they always score well with the judges, but we all know ice is slippery. _Flip._ A co-worker who testifies about what a hard worker our client is would go a long way toward us winning. _Flip._

Not to mention that a lay witness versus an expert witness would be far easier for our new teammate Elle to pull off. _Flip._

Ugh. Elle. Practice earlier was a friggin' disaster. This is my freshman nightmare all over again. Newcomer blows the judges' socks off with a prepared closing she'd practiced all summer and then newcomer ends up ruining the team because she can't perform under pressure.

That newcomer was me once. I hate that my team is suffering through this again, and I'm going to do everything I can to prevent that, even if I have to write every question of every examination and every word of every argument.

I check the score sheet again, but the numbers don't change. I exhale heavily. Miles is right. Historically, an expert witness scores at least two points better than an ordinary witness does. _Flip._

I flip the pen again, frustrated that I can't seem to come to a solution. I'm a solution girl. This is my thing. I assess situations, measure risks, and advise the best course. But the best course in this case isn't clear to me. I run my hand through my hair and study the mock trial case once again. It doesn't matter that it's a mock trial-to me it's as serious as it gets.

As I turn the exemplar tabulation over, a packet of aspirin lands next to my hand.

I drop my pen and pick up the packet of medicine. Looking up, I check to see if it's raining aspirin or if someone was playing table hockey and flicked the goal across the room accidentally, but I only see the lights of the ceiling and the bent heads of the few people in the room.

"I'm worried that if you sigh again, a tornado may form. Those are some heavy puffs," a deep voice from behind me says.

I twist to see a guy the size of a small car dwarfing the upholstered chair next to the fireplace. For most people, that chair is oversized. He fills every inch. Even beneath his long-sleeved gray T-shirt, I can see the definition in his arms and chest. I allow myself a few seconds of covert gawking. Have to get my thrills in where I can.

"Maybe I have asthma."

"Then you'll be out of luck because I don't have an inhaler on me. Just the aspirin."

"Sad. Not much of a traveling pharmacist, are you?"

He smiles, and I grip the side of my seat to make sure I don't fall out of my chair at the brilliance of it. Some people, like my roommate Piper, are blessed with an unreal amount of beauty. This guy is one of those people. Even his black plastic glasses make him look like the studious model in an Abercrombie ad.

"You'll have to blame my mom. She has a weird propensity for sticking those things in all of my pockets."

"Thanks, but my headache is induced by my homework. I don't think a couple of aspirin are going to help." I offer him the packet back, but he waves me off.

"It's the second week of the semester. Isn't it too early for homework to be causing anyone stress?" He glances around the room. "In fact, I'm surprised by the number of people here. Is everyone here studying? Isn't it Wednesday? People study on Wednesdays?"

I think the last question is a joke, but I'm not entirely sure. "First time at Starbucks?"

He gestures for me to come close, as if he's going to tell me a secret. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm not a fan of coffee," he stage whispers behind a screen formed by a hand big enough to make a Great Dane look like a toy poodle.

"So why are you here?" I find myself whispering back against my better judgment, caught up in his flirtation.

"Didn't want to go to a bar. Didn't want to be in the library. Didn't want to be at home. I wandered around and found this place." He waves his hand around the room. "But now I'm worried because I feel like I should be doing something serious instead of doing this."

He raises his tablet to show me the game he's playing.

"I would guess at least half the room is playing that game. It was sold for a billion dollars a couple of weeks ago."

"I'd much rather learn how you do that trick." He tips his head toward my hand.

I catch my pen reflexively, not even realizing I was flipping it. "It's a bad habit."

"Nah, it's cool." He gets up and is at my table in two steps. "Austin."

He holds out his hand. When I clasp it, I'm surprised by the roughness of it, as if he does something more with his hands other than typing on a keyboard or holding a pen. "Ally."

"Nice to meet you, Ally. So what's the trick to this?" He bounces one of my highlighters in his hand.

"No real trick. I tap the long end of the pen with my middle finger and let the momentum carry it around my thumb. Like this." And I repeat the action, neatly catching it between my thumb and forefinger.

Austin tries it, but the highlighter goes flying out of his fingers and skitters across the table. "Shit."

I cover my laugh as he scoots over to pick up the marker. He tries again and the highlighter zips two tables over.

"Maybe not as much force next time. You aren't launching a rocket into space," I advise.

"I think you've made a deal with the devil," he says after trying again.

"If I were to make a deal with the devil, do you really think this is the gift I'd ask for?" I spin the pen. "There are at least a million better things than a pen-spinning trick."

"Good point. What would you ask for?" He lifts my mug and takes a sniff, making a face when the coffee scent hits his nose. He doesn't even like the smell of coffee? I guess he has to have some flaws.

"Is this a straight trade, so I get eternal life in hell in exchange for something great on earth?"

"I suppose so. Are there other trades the devil will make?" He reaches back to grab his Gatorade off the floor next to the chair he's no longer sitting in. His arms are so long he doesn't even have to rise from his seat. His shirt pulls out of his jeans, and I catch a glimpse of well-defined abs.

I avert my eyes when he swings around so he doesn't find me staring at his body like a creepster. One look is okay, two and I've definitely crossed over into bad behavior. "I don't have any direct experience with the devil, but I'd try to make a bargain that does not include eternal hell. I'm not made for that kind of punishment."

His lips quirk up. "Yeah, you do seem... sweet."

"The devil doesn't like sweet things?" The words pop out before my brain catches up with my mouth.

Austin's lips go from half-mast to full-out grin. "He might. But I think if he had the choice, he'd pick hot over sweet." Hazel eyes rake over me. "Don't worry, you've got the hot part covered, too."

This time it's _my_ pen that flies across the table. Chuckling, Austin snatches it out of the air.

"Nice reflexes," I mutter. My cheeks feel like they're flaming. I haven't engaged in this kind of flirting since... well, I can't remember the last time. And with this guy? It's totally out of character.

"I'm good for something." He winks and hands me the pen.

Our eyes meet, and the connection between us pings and arcs, warming me as surely as the flame of the fire five feet away. The register rings behind me, reminding me why I haven't had sex in so long. Ethan, my co-worker at Starbucks, was the last person I had sex with. It was uninspired sex-so boring that I think we both fell asleep before the deed was even done. I couldn't really blame it on him either.

We were both distracted-him by some serious bio project and me by the mock trial case. Ethan made out better than I did. He got an "A" on his bio project whereas my team didn't make it out of regionals for the second year in a row. That time it wasn't entirely my fault. We were just uninspiring, which is why Elle is now part of the team. She nearly brought everyone in the room to tears with her prepared closing statement during tryouts. The problem is that she doesn't know a thing about how an actual trial works despite being the daughter of a superstar trial attorney.

As gorgeous as this Austin guy is and as flattering as it is to have his attention, my priority is making it out of semi-finals this year. Two years of being beat down at something I'm supposed to be good at is wearing at my confidence. Giving up would be something my mom would do. Giving up and trotting off with the cute guy is her go-to plan. She's done it my entire life.

Winning at mock trial doesn't guarantee that I'm not going to end up like my mom, living from one boyfriend to the next, cutting out when there's the least bit of tribulation on the horizon, but success would prove to myself that I'm her polar opposite.

I take my comforts where I can find them. And besides, I really enjoy mock trial. Not every aspect. Who loves everything about anything? But for the most part, I get off on crafting the questions, the courtroom atmosphere-all of it.

With school, work, and mock trial, I don't have a lot of time for outside activities. Besides, I'm not sure how I'd even handle a guy like him. The sexual energy he radiates is thrilling, but I can't deny it's also a tad terrifying. I don't have a type, exactly, but if I had to lump the guys I've dated in the past into one category, I guess I'd say... safe? Serious? Definitely not in-your-face sexual, that's for sure. More like... well, Ethan. Not too tall, not too short. Not too attractive, not unattractive. I fit with those guys. I'm comfortable with them. Nothing about this delicious male makes me comfortable.

"You're sighing again," Austin cuts in.

"I'm not." If I was, I didn't mean to.

"Okay, you're breathing heavily." He cocks an eyebrow. "Or your asthma is acting up."

"Fortunately, asthma is one ailment I don't have. But sighing is clearly a problem. Does your mom do house calls?"

"Nope. But I can prescribe you the perfect thing for stress."

I raise my palm. "Don't say sex."

He snickers. "I was going to say exercise, but sex is good, too." Those hazel eyes conduct another sweep of my face, then linger briefly on my chest. I'm wearing a plain black, long-sleeved, crew neck sweater, but the way his gaze smolders, you'd think I was topless.

There's something familiar about him-as if I've seen him before. Maybe he models, though he's a little broad-shouldered for that. But still... "Have we met before?" I ask warily.

A flash of something-irritation, possibly-skips across his face... Maybe he gets this question a lot. "You probably saw me on campus and said to yourself, who is that fine-ass guy and how do I get his number? But we were like sliding doors, a missed connection. I read Craigslist. You should've reached out."

Yeah, he's tired of that question. "Nice story. You sound like a Lit major."

"Sociology, actually. You?"

"Poli-Sci."

"What do you plan to do with that? Learn how to take over the world?"

"If I had the responsibility of the world on my shoulders, can you imagine the sighs that kind of stress would generate? They'd be like gale force winds."

"Good point."

Austin stretches his long legs on either side of my own chair. If I fell forward, I'd land in his lap.

 _And that's a bad thing because...?_

I shove the naughty thought aside. If I want some lap time, there are other, less magnetic guys I could turn to-

 _Less magnetic? You need help, Dawson._

The exasperated voice has a point. It might as well have come from my roommate, the one who is constantly teasing me about my play-it-safe attitude toward men. But careful suits me.

"You seem less tense now," he observes. He studies my face again, the weight of his gaze almost a tangible thing. "Maybe you should keep me around."

"Where would I do that? My lease only allows for three people, and I'm not sure I earn enough here at Starbucks to feed you on a regular basis," I say lightly. This guy is entirely too smooth for me. I have a feeling flirt is his default setting. Which is fine. Nothing wrong with that, but it means I can't-and shouldn't-take him seriously.

"I'm pretty quiet. I don't think you'd notice me."

I raise a disbelieving eyebrow. "That's not even within the vicinity of truthfulness."

"I can be quiet." He raises two fingers. "Scout's honor." We both look at his fingers. "I was a Scout but dropped out at the age of fifteen."

"What happened at fifteen?" I ask, almost against my will. I want to quit the conversation, but I keep allowing myself to be dragged back in. See? This is some practiced shit.

"I grew. I was a scrawny kid with questionable health, but somewhere between fourteen and fifteen my body said 'to hell with that, we're going to be big and strong.'"

"And the Scouts got left behind? Poor fellas."

"I was a shitty Scout. I was way behind on my badge acquisition. It was really a boon to the troop when I left. I think they might have thrown a party."

I can't stop the laugh from bubbling out. "Your Scout troop was giddy with relief that you left, but you still think I should keep you?"

"I know how to cook and have, at some points in my life, operated an iron." He ticks off each skill on a finger. "I always bring the good booze when I'm invited to a party, and I make my bed in the morning."

"You had me at know how to cook." Truthfully, all those things sound like the characteristics of a fairly responsible person. Safe even. But a guy this good looking who knows how to cook is single and hitting on me in a coffee shop before booty call hour? It's all too strange. And I don't have the time or energy to puzzle this out.

"Awesome. So when should I move in?" His eyes twinkle playfully.

I pretend to consider it again. "I think I have to say never. But I wish you luck on your roommate quest."

He looks unfazed. I get the feeling nothing fazes him. "How about you just invite me over, then? I promise to bring the good booze." When I hesitate, he swiftly changes gears. "Or we'll go out instead. Grab some dinner."

"Oh. Thanks for the offer, but I really don't have the time." I stretch my arm and drop the medicine on the top of his backpack. I won't lie and say I didn't enjoy this flirting session, but a date? That doesn't fit into my plan. This year I'm winning the mock trial championship, and I'm not going to be distracted. I spent my entire winter break plotting out this semester's game plan. Nowhere on that schedule of events includes taking a chance on a guy like Austin.

Something about him makes me nervous. Not in a he's-going-to-turn-you-into-a-skinsuit nervous, but more that I don't like the way his vivid eyes and easy smiles make my heart pound.

He tilts his head. Then rubs his chin. Then sweeps his hair back away from his face. "This is new," he mutters to himself. He gives me a tight smile. "Can I borrow your pen?"

I hand it to him warily, hoping he's not going to spend the rest of the night trying to spin the pen while simultaneously trying to convince me to change my mind, but he doesn't. Instead he pulls the rules book toward him and writes down seven digits. "This is my number. If you find some extra time, give me a call."

* * *

Austin

It's been a long time since I've been rejected. I hadn't come to Starbucks with the intention of picking up a girl. I was going stir crazy at home, and none of my roommates was around for me to talk to, so I decided to take a walk. This place was on the far end of campus and I'd never stepped foot inside it before, which meant that it was as safe a spot as any.

Then she strolled in, her long brown hair with what seemed to be chestnut highlights streaming down her back. She sat down and started flipping her pen and sighing so hard I thought she might blow herself off the chair.

It would've been a crime to not offer her an ear. And when she looked at me with her big brown eyes, I couldn't tear myself away. The invitation came out of my mouth because... well, that's what guys do with pretty girls. They ask them out. And I guess they get turned down, too.

I'm not a slouch in the academic department. I get good grades and have been an Academic All-American every year since I've been eligible, but no one I know starts studying until a week before midterms.

Studying as a reason for rejection lies somewhere midpoint between I can't because my mom died and I can't because I'm clipping my toenails. At least she looked regretful turning me down, as if she wished she could take me out for a ride but couldn't quite bring herself to throw her leg over the saddle.

Any other night, maybe I would have pursued her harder. Or just brushed off the rejection, snapped my fingers, and waited for a willing babe to magically appear and soothe away the sting. Which isn't exactly a stretch-when you play football for UF, there's no shortage of willing babes at your disposal. But I'm not in the mood tonight.

I'm not sure why. It's not because I popped into my best friend Jace's place this afternoon and he was reading a book while his girlfriend was on her computer. They looked domestic and boring. The little pang in my chest was probably heartburn from the three burrito bowls I had at lunch. It wasn't... envy.

Halfway home, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see a text from Trent, one of the team managers.

 _Trent: Coach wants to see you._

The digital clock reads 8:05 p.m. It's been a week since the National Championship game. You'd think he'd be enjoying some R&R. Guy certainly deserves it.

I've taken full advantage of the post-championship high. There's not a bar in town that doesn't have a bottomless tap for a Gator player. Not a girl on campus-or off it-who isn't chomping at the bit to do a little chomping on my bits.

Okay, maybe there is one girl who isn't interested, but for the most part, I'm sitting on top of the mountain of life. Other people are struggling. Other people are sighing their asses off in the coffee place. Me? Anything I want is mine for the asking. I could walk into any bar in the city and people would be trampling each other to buy me a drink. At the Gas Station, there are coeds who would suck me off under the table while I watch SportsCenter highlights.

Life is good. So good that I don't even care I just got shot down. So what if some uptight girl-who's spending a Wednesday two weeks into the semester studying so hard that it makes her head ache-turned me down for a date? Just gives me more time to enjoy my off-season, what little of it that I'm allotted. Spring ball will be here soon enough, and I'll have to fend off hungry freshmen and sophomores who think they should be ahead of me on the depth chart.

Until then, I'm planning on coasting through classes during the day, napping long into afternoon, and enjoying late, wonderful nights.

Well, and apparently random evening summons from Coach.

 _On it._ I type back.

"You wanted to see me, Coach?" I stick my head around the corner into Coach Simmons' office. He is on the phone but gestures for me to enter. I suppose he's recruiting. The official signing day starts in about four weeks.

No one likes coming into the coach's office. Meetings on the field, inside the locker room, during film-you know what those are all about. When you're summoned to his office, you're literally being called on the carpet.

"Sit down, Austin." He gestures to a chair in front of him. Coach Simmons doesn't look like a football coach. He's small, under six feet, and wiry. He never even played college ball, but it hasn't hurt him. He's got two national championships under his belt in less than ten years. That's enough for the whispers of "dynasty" to start.

Coach Simmons steeples his fingers together and leans forward, his wrists resting on some cut sheets. Reading his own good press? I'd do that, too, if I were him.

I position my hands the same way and wait patiently. Mirroring is a good technique to set someone at ease per the sociology class I'm taking on human interaction this semester.

Coach Simmons examines something on his desk before turning his attention to me. "You enjoying your off-season, son?"

Not the question I was expecting.

"It's going okay." It's been pretty fricking awesome, thank you.

"I'd like to win another National Championship next year. How about you?"

"Yes, sir. I want that, too." My interest perks up. I've been wanting to discuss draft placements, combine invitations, and scouting visits, but figured that wouldn't take place until spring ball or the summer camps. This is probably what I've been antsy about today, why I didn't want to go to the Gas Station to get laid, why the rejection from Ally at the coffee shop hung with me longer than it should have, why the sight of Jace and his girlfriend made me feel like I was missing out.

What I really want to hear is that the scouts are drooling over me and that Coach Simmons is telling them I need to go high in the draft.

"You still hungry to win? Because some kids win once and they take their foot off the pedal. They stop training as hard. They let the outside world become a distraction. They lose focus and then they lose games." He glances down at the photos under his wrists.

My good mood evaporates. From what little I can see, those pictures contain nothing good. If I'm here to talk to Coach about those, I better brace myself for a tongue lashing-and not the sexy kind I got a couple of days ago from a cute red-headed Delta Gamma in the bathroom at the Gas Station.

"I want to win," I repeat slowly. "Nothing's going to be more important come fall than making sure the BCS trophy stays here at UF."

"Hhmmph," Coach grunts.

Err. Not the answer he was looking for?

"This is my worry. Without Trent pushing you every second, is the defensive squad going to be as sharp or tough? Physically and mentally, are you going to be a National Championship team?" He reaches for the photos and tosses them toward me.

I look at the colored papers and inwardly cringe. After the championship game, it's safe to say we went a little crazy. People treated us like gods and there was a never-ending funnel of booze that night. And the women. Holy shit. They were everywhere, and they came in pairs and more. They were all tens. Maybe elevens.

I couldn't count much that night. I don't have to look at the pictures to know what they contain. They'd been on the Internet within hours of the game's last whistle. Dez and I and the D-line were getting drunk, doing whipped cream body shots off of various coeds.

There's a worse photograph that I don't see in the pile. That's the one where I'm lying on a bar top with one girl's head between my legs while Dez is pretending to spank her in the ass. Another girl is leaning over my mouth feeding me a shot. My mom raked me over the coals for that one. My "I had my pants on, Ma," excuse didn't fly with her, and I suspect it would go over equally poorly with Coach.

"This was after the season was over," I point out.

He taps a finger on the top photo. "Where's your captain in these photos?"

"At his hotel."

"Right." He gives one final tap and shoves backward. The motion sends the photos flying off the desk onto the floor, and I see the last one in the pile is indeed the foursome picture. Fan-fucking-tastic. "Your captain was at the hotel, avoiding the press and ensuring the Gators' reputation was untouched while you and the rest of your crew were out there making us look like a bunch of high school kids who'd never seen a set of tits before. Do you know how hard it is to assure a worried mama that we're going to take good care of her son and won't let him sin his way through college when these pictures are everywhere?"

"No, sir." The mom may not like it, but the son sure as shit does. I keep that nugget to myself.

He pins me with a hard stare. "You're a superb talent, Mr. Moon. You will undoubtedly be drafted, but how high you go depends a lot upon the off-the-field qualities you show. Your scouting reports say that your leadership potential is unknown. Being captain of the defense could go a long way to shoring up your intangibles."

Captain? That's not something I've ever gunned for. I love playing the game because that shit is fun, and all the other hard work I put in, from eating the right foods to working out hours a day to studying game film, helps me do what I love at a high level. But captaincy? Leadership? That sounds like a lot of BS that I don't really care to shoulder, but I can't really say so to Coach.

If he's asking, the appropriate answer is always "yes" because if you say no, you're getting voluntold to do it anyway. Might as well make yourself agreeable. Path of least resistance and all that.

"If that's what the team wants from me, that's what I want to give the team."

Coach Simmons gives no indication my lack of enthusiasm bothers him. "With Trent gone, someone needs to keep the defense in check. I don't want to see more of this." He gestures toward the pictures I have awkwardly collected in my lap.

"Not a problem."

"If it does become a problem,,," His threat hangs unspoken in the air. I didn't even sniff the field my first year behind a first team All-American linebacker who was drafted in the third round by the Niners. He's not in the league anymore, but when I walked onto campus, he was one of the big men and I was his understudy.

Since my sophomore year, I've held that inside linebacker position against all challengers and I'm not giving it up now no matter how many blue chip recruits and backups are chomping at the bit to take my place.

"It won't."

"Good." He leans back into his chair and swivels so he's looking out the window onto the practice field. "I think you would be a good captain, Austin. Your teammates like you and more importantly they listen to you." The dry note in his voice says that right now they're listening to all the wrong things. "But taking your direction in this"-he brushes a palm across the clippings-"is an easy path. You need to prove to me you can lead them in something else."

"Absolutely." I straighten in my chair. I've always gotten pretty good grades, and I have no problem cutting down on the booze and chicks. The guys on the defense don't mind having someone else in charge. Between Hammer and me, we'll have it covered. "What do you need?"

"No more pictures with girls. No more excessive partying." He ticks a finger with each order. "And convince Dallas that he'd be better off at safety."

I nod. No chicks. No booze. Get Dallas-

"What?" My screech is high enough to be mistaken for a teenage girl, and I think my hearing short-circuited. Dallas is our quarterback. The one we won the National Championship with. Coach knows all of this, so I must have misheard him. The only thing I can think of to say is, "I'm on defense."

Coach Simmons doesn't even spare me a glance. "I've got a commitment out of Texas. He'll come if he can start. That kid won four straight Texas State High School Championships. I want him. He's going to be the key to my future here. Dallas is athletic, but we both know he's not good enough to play at the next level. So you convince Dallas to move to safety and the C is yours." He shoves a patch toward me.

The circular patch in gold and blue, with a big old "C" in the middle, is sewn onto a captain's jersey. It's an honor to wear the patch, but in order to own this letter I've got to tell my quarterback, the one who just helped us win us a national title, that his time at the vaunted QB position is over?

I swallow hard. Not only do I play on the opposite side of the ball as Dallas, but my time spent with him generally consists of running by him during practice since he's considered off-limits even when we're wearing pads. We aren't best buds even though we do play on the same team.

"I... I'm on defense." I sound like a broken record. "I mean that I don't have any classes with Dallas. We don't hang out. I've never had a meaningful conversation with the guy beyond encouraging him to play well. I think my influence over Dallas is about the same as I'd have over a herd of cats."

There. That sounds reasoned and sane unlike Coach's bizarre request.

"I haven't asked you to ride herd over cats. Besides, you don't have to convince Dallas directly. You're free to talk to the rest of the team. If he doesn't have the support of the team, he'll move on his own."

Is there any way to tell your coach that he sounds like he's taken one too many drags off the pipe? That he's talking out his ass? Because this shit seems off to me. Shouldn't he be talking to Dallas and addressing the team? Why me? I try another tack. "I have no problem playing monk for the rest of my tenure here-"

"Son?" Coach Simmons interrupts, tone mild as if he hasn't just released napalm in his office.

"Yeah, Coach?"

"You're dismissed."

Okay then. I heave myself out of the chair and walk toward the door. Maybe if I turn around and come back in, the conversation will be completely different.

"Mr. Moon," he calls. I turn back just in time to see the patch sailing across the room. I catch it reflexively. "You forgot something."


	2. Chapter 2

Ally

When I get home, I find my two roommates installed in front of the television eating ice cream and watching Say Yes to the Dress. While none of us is even dating, we seem curiously addicted to the show. I think it's because we have shitty relationships with our moms and this show is all about the momma and daughter drama.

"Tell me there's a half gallon left of that." I don't wait for an answer but throw my backpack on the chair and start rummaging in the freezer. If there was ever a night for real cream, sugar, butter and eggs, tonight was it. I need some relief after talking with Austin Moon. His number has implanted itself in my head followed by the words call me.

"I was going to ask how your mock trial practice went, but since you're shoving ice-cream into your face like tomorrow is the last day on earth, I'm guessing it was shitty?" Piper rests her pointed chin on the edge of the sofa. Her blonde hair clashes against the rich red velvet of the cushion.

"Shitty is too nice of a word to describe how poorly it went." I throw myself into one of the two Papasan chairs that Piper contributed to the decor and dig into the ice-cream. The icy tartness hits my tongue, and some of my agitation melts away. "But it's early. We still have a lot of time." Regionals are right before Spring Break so there are nearly two whole months for us to get our act together.

"Don't get too comfortable," Carrie, my other roommate, informs me.

I pause, my spoon halfway to my mouth, and narrow my eyes. "Why not?"

"Remember 1C complaining about cockroaches?"

"What now?" 1C is an apartment inhabited by two Stepford Wives in the making-both blondes with stick straight hair, identically styled. Every time I've seen them, they're wearing headbands. Who above the age of eleven still wears headbands? Even if their matching hairstyles didn't remind me of the plastic women from the infamous novel, the robotic looks on their faces and the fake smiles they wear creep nearly everyone out.

But the number one reason we don't like 1C is because they complain all of the time, and they regularly canvas the apartment complex to get others to sign on to their complaints. They've complained about everything from noise (it's a goddamned college apartment complex) to garbage (too many pizza boxes stuffed down the trash chute) to non-resident visitors after ten (again, we're goddamned college students).

"They got enough people to sign their maintenance petition, so an exterminator crew is coming next Tuesday. You can keep your stuff here, but you'll have to find a place to stay."

I do a quick calculation in my head. Five days. I'm not even convinced that they saw a cockroach. I don't like changes in my routine. I can already feel my anxiety ratcheting up. Change is not my favorite thing in the world. I live by my routine. "That's bullshit."

"I know," Piper says glumly. "I'm staying at the house. I asked if you could come, but they're so strict. We're still in pledge mode, so only full sisters can stay." Piper belongs to the Alpha Phi sorority whereas Carrie and I are those Goddamned Independents or GDIs as Piper calls us affectionately. I'd have pledged a house if it didn't cost an arm and a leg. I have to save those limbs to pay for graduate school.

"Where are you staying?" I ask Carrie.

"I've decided that Landon is worth a second night," she admits. "Basically I'm sexing him up so I have a place to stay. Let's hope he doesn't expect a third time around because if tomorrow is anything like Saturday night, I'm going to have to diddle myself to have an orgasm once he falls asleep."

"I think I'd rather stay here and be exterminated." I grimace. "I suppose I can stay with Dallas. He'll be back by then and there's so many bedrooms in his house that at least one will be free."

"Speaking of our vaunted Gators, guess who finally showed up in my Public Safety class." Piper waggles her eyebrows.

Apparently someone hot and sexy. "Dunno. Coach Simmons?" I tease.

"No! Austin Moon."

"Who's that?" Carrie doesn't know a thing about football. She fell asleep during the one game we watched together here in our apartment. And the live games? Forget about it. She left after the first quarter. Piper sometimes attends with her sorority sisters if it's part of some fraternity exchange party but otherwise, they have zero interest in the game. The players, on the other hand? They are interesting but Dallas and I made a pact. No pissing in the other's pool. I don't date football players and he doesn't mess with my roommates.

"He's on the defense," I explain. "Linebacker. Will be a pro after his senior year." I look at my spoon and then down into the half-empty carton of Fruity Mint Swirl. I should probably stop.

"He's this huge mountain of sweet male meat," Piper shares with Carrie. "He's got this beautiful blond hair that I crave to touch and hazel eyes. I swear they're fake. Are they?" The question is directed at me.

I drag my attention away from the icy treat and to my two roommates who are looking at me with intense interest. "I have no idea. I've never talked to him. Dallas hangs out with the offense, mostly Elliot and Gavin, more recently." Elliot's the running back, and Gavin is a new guy-a tight end with magic hands that never seem to drop a pass and with sticky feet that somehow always manage to stay inbounds. "I think Moon is best friends with Dez Wade and Jace. According to Dallas, anyway. I don't hang out with his teammates."

Well, I did once. Operative word being once. The one time I went to the Gas Station, the preferred hangout place for the football team, Dallas was swallowed up by well-wishers. He forgot I was there, and I had little interest in being shoved around by the mass of people trying to slap his back.

He'd apologized the next day, but I didn't go out with him again. When we do hang out, it's usually here although I've been over to his house a few times. I try to avoid that because nine times out of ten, someone is having sex in the living room or the kitchen. Dallas says it's because sex is an athletic activity, no different than lifting or running.

"Ohhhhh," Carrie breathes out. "I had Intro to Communications with Dez first semester sophomore year."

"Carrie, are you blushing?" Piper exclaims. Carrie is not a blusher. She can rip off the bawdiest statement as if she's standing in church reciting the Lord's Prayer, so this slight reddening of her cheeks is highly unusual. "You are! What did you and Wade get up to?"

"Nothing." Carrie grins ruefully. "Unfortunately. I threw myself at him several times, but he never noticed."

"He's a dog. You are better off," I offer comfortingly. I don't know the defense well, but most of the single guys, Dallas included, freely partake of what their elevated social status provides-a never-ending line of college girls wanting to know what it's like to sleep with a star. It's one reason I'd never date a football player. They don't know how to hit the "off" button once they're not on the field anymore. Life's a big fat game to them, and girls are just objects they move around on the board.

"A hot one," Carrie admits.

"And his hot dog has probably been licked so many times he's on the WHO list of dangerous diseases," I retort.

Piper waves her hands, the multitude of bangles clanging cheerfully against each other. Piper would never be able to sneak up on anyone. She wears too much jewelry. "Who cares? I can't stop staring at this Austin guy. He's always wearing short-sleeved shirts, no matter how cold it is outside, and when he takes notes, his biceps muscle flexes. I swear the room gets ten degrees warmer when he walks in. I'd love to give him a little ride."

"It'd only be for one night," I caution.

Piper shrugs. "Again, who cares?"

Carrie disagrees. "Here's my theory. I think guys do one-night stands because their egos can't take the blows that a more sober second hookup would deliver. They don't want to hear they are bad in bed, so they do one-time-only events."

"What's our excuse for our lack of regular companionship?" I joke.

None of us has had a decent relationship since we came to college. I broke up with my high school boyfriend a month into my freshman year. Carrie has tried to date guys on and off, but when none of those relationships panned out, she's settled for random hookups with guys like Landon. Piper was madly in love with one of the basketball players, but he graduated in December and hasn't called her since, thus confirming my anti-athlete bias.

"We're looking for the unicorn," Carrie says. "The guy who's a good lay and decent out of bed."

"I had a good lay once," Piper informs us. "Two years ago. Spring Break. Greece." She fires out details like they're bullets shooting from a gun. "That guy from the Philippines had a tongue like a snake."

"That's a terrible visual." I shudder.

Piper is undeterred. "It felt amazing. He licked places I didn't even know had nerve endings."

"Two years ago was your last good sexual experience?" Carrie asks with genuine concern.

Piper nods. "With a partner. I can get myself off fine, but that's about two minutes and then what?"

I nod. She speaks the truth. I miss having sex with a guy I have feelings for. I think that's why my relationships here have failed. I can't summon up the requisite... passion for any guy. I keep trying. Ethan is the fourth guy I've tried with, but the sex is so bland I'm better off masturbating. Alone.

Carrie shrugs. "I've had good sex with partners. You have to be more vocal and take charge though. Most of these guys think just jabbing you is going to get it done. Not to mention the opposite end of the spectrum, where they think they're awesome and want to show off their amazing moves."

"No, the worst is whiskey dick where they keep going and going and you're willing to do anything for them to either come or get the fuck off," Piper interjects.

"Jesus, we're jaded." Maybe I should start looking at sex like exercise. Lord knows, with the increased stress in my life from mock trial, my glucose levels are going to be completely out of whack. I get up and shove the nearly empty container back into the freezer.

"It's all part of growing up. Welcome to adulthood," Piper jokes.

Sadly, though, I think she's not too far off the mark, which is yet another reason why turning down the gorgeous guy at Starbucks was a good idea regardless of how sultry his lips looked forming my name or how his rough hands scraped against my softer, more tender skin. I have a sinking feeling he's good in bed. He's got a way with his body-graceful despite the size-that said he was comfortable in his own skin.

"What're you thinking about now?" Piper asks.

I give myself a little shake. I really need to stop dwelling on this guy no matter how hazel- Oh, god. I turn back to my roommates.

"Some guy hit on me at work," I say slowly as the puzzle pieces click together. Hazel eyes. Blond hair. Muscles so nice they'd get a nun excited.

"Jon Cryer or Charlie Sheen?" Carrie is a film major.

I make a face. "How about neither?"

"Okay, pick your own look-a-like actor."

"How about, instead of an actor, I pick football player. I didn't recognize him last night without the eye black and helmet. Plus, he was wearing glasses."

Piper hoots. "He Clark Kented you!"

Carrie waves her hand at Piper to get her to stop laughing. "Seriously, Austin Moon hit on you last night? What'd you say? Are you going out with him?"

Piper jumps in. "I know exactly what she said. He's not my type." She turns to me. "Am I right?"

I shrug. "So I have a type. Sue me. I don't think liking a certain flavor of ice-cream is a bad thing."

"Sure, if you're eating ice-cream," Piper cries in dismay. "But this is prime, Grade A manflesh."

"We need to hold an intervention." Carrie sighs. "What was the excuse you gave?"

I make a face at Carrie who, in turn, sticks out her tongue at me. Fine, I did give him an excuse. "I was working on my mock trial stuff. Plus, he seems like he'd take a lot of effort. Doesn't matter now. Dallas and I have the pact. No football players for me."

"There are eighty guys on that team. Who cares what Dallas thinks?" Piper's long hoop earrings swing as she bobs her head in indignation.

"Agreed. Besides, Dallas just made that stupid pact up so he can keep you to himself."

I reach into the cupboard so Carrie doesn't see me roll my eyes. I've heard her theory before about Dallas' crush on me. Sounds like she's still clinging to it despite the number of times Dallas has been in this very apartment talking about the girls he's been banging.

Piper is beside herself with disappointment. "Other than your extracurricular activities, sixteen hours of school, and twenty hours of work, surely you could make time for someone who looks like that. I'd bang him so hard."

"Then you call him. Here's his number." I stomp over to my bag, pull out the paper he scrawled his digits on and shove it toward her.

"He gave you his number?" Carrie says in disbelief.

"Yup."

"I give up on you." She turns around and folds her arms across her chest in disgust.

"You're the one who said good-looking guys are probably bad in bed," I remind her, ignoring that inner crone voice yelling, _Liar!_ "Besides, most of the single football players go through women like tissues. Look at Dallas." I'm gratified when both of my roommates give reluctant nods of understanding. "Austin just gives off this vibe of someone whose default toward women is always 'on.' He'd probably flirt with a tree if he knew it was female."

"You know this how?" Piper challenges.

"He hit on me. At Starbucks."

"You say that like Starbucks is a nun's sanctuary. I know for a fact that you and Ethan hooked up there."

"First, we did not hook up there. We work there. And because we work together and spent so much time together, it was natural that we would sleep together. But do I have to remind you how boring it was? How I nearly fell asleep one time when we were having sex? If that's not a reason to stay away from men turned on by the smell of coffee, I don't know what is."

Piper makes a face. "I suppose. Still, I think Austin Moon would be worth at least one roll in the hay. You could do it for me. For womankind. You could test out the theory whether really good-looking guys actually know how to satisfy a woman. Report back as to whether he's a dud or a stud."

Stud. Austin Moon's hot body looks like he could take some abuse. I keep that thought to myself lest Piper launch herself at me in frustration.

"Oh sure, let me go and sacrifice my night for you." She sticks out her tongue at me. "How about this," I say placatingly. "I'll fantasize about him. I'll probably have a better orgasm by myself, objectifying him, than with him."

"True," Carrie says glumly. "If he really was good in bed, he'd be the unicorn, and then we'd wonder why he was single. Like, what is so wrong with him that he's out trolling coffee houses for companionship? He should be able to go to the Gas Station and clap his hands and have a dozen babes at his feet."

"Thank you. My point exactly." But being right doesn't make me feel better.

* * *

Austin

I find myself at Starbucks the next night. When Cassidy announced she was forming a study group for our Criminal Practice and Procedure class, I wasn't interested. When she said they'd meet at Starbucks at seven, I couldn't get my name on her list fast enough.

I tell myself it's because I need to study, but the moment I walk in and set eyes on Ally's long brown hair, I admit it's because I want to see her again. Despite her rejection, I'm still hot for her in a way I can't remember feeling toward another girl.

Plus, focusing on Ally, even if she did turn me down, is a thousand times better than dwelling on the ridiculous task Coach wants me to undertake. He's the coach. If he wants a player moved, he moves the player. He doesn't come to a linebacker with that request. I'm ignoring it for now. Ignoring it and, instead, applying my energies in a different and better direction: convincing sweet Ally to go out with me.

At Cassidy's table, there are two chairs and she's sitting in one of them. Either everyone else is late or it's just going to be the two of us. I ignore the way she's patting the chair next to her and drag one around so I can sit facing the counter. This is a definite two birds, one stone moment.

"Did I scare everyone away or are we it?" I ask, pulling out my glasses and opening up the textbook. Ally is mostly blocked by the machines, registers, and glass cases displaying sugary carbs, but I know she saw me when I walked in. I gave her a little wave and she frowned. She recognizes me. I'm taking that as a sign of encouragement.

"No, it's just us. Isn't that nice?" Cassidy's words break up my inspection.

Whoops. Forgot why I was here for a minute. I quickly process Cassidy's response.

"I definitely need a study group," I answer diplomatically.

Her smile dims a watt or two but doesn't completely disappear. "I'm glad I can be there for you."

Spring semester is always a little harder for me to stay focused. I only have a few weeks of spring ball, but the rest of the time, my schedule is wide open. Most of the trouble we players get into is when we don't have a coach breathing down our necks and 7 a.m. full pads practice.

From my limited study of Cassidy I don't know if she's interested in sleeping with me or merely bagging, tagging, and hanging me trophy-like in her sorority house. In prior years, I'd have tapped that ass in a heartbeat. Nowadays, I've learned to be pickier. If we were at the Gas Station or a post-game party, the rules are pretty clear. Here? She might be angling for something more than I'm interested in giving.

Jersey chasers are a dime a dozen, always willing to take a ride on the football side, but you've got to be careful with the overly eager ones, the ones who aren't just trying to make a trophy outta you, but a fuckin' Lifetime Achievement award. As in, poking holes in condoms and look at that, you're a baby daddy. I don't know if Cassidy falls into that latter category, but she's a little too eager for my taste.

 _Too eager? Since when do I complain about eagerness?_

A husky laugh draws my eyes to the counter again. Oh right. Since the hot brunette turned me down. She makes my dick move. I lean forward, wanting to be part of whatever is making her smile. Cassidy follows my gaze. Her eyes narrow with laser-like focus.

"Do you know Ally Dawson?"

"Nah, I'm not much of a coffee drinker." I don't go into my theory about sweat-infused water. My main drink of choice is Gatorade followed by Gatorade and vodka chased with a beer, which is why I've set foot inside Starbucks maybe a half-dozen times since I started attending UF.

"I'm not sure what her major is. Communications. Political Science? Something like that. She's very strange."

I swivel back to Cassidy, surprised at her bitchy comment. Usually when girls run down other girls in front of me, they have more finesse. It's more along the lines of "she'd look so much better in a different dress" and not so much with the "she's an ugly bitch, stay away" because even self-absorbed people realize at some point that those kinds of comments are off-putting. "In what way?"

"Why do you want to know?" She frowns.

I've spent enough time around women to recognize danger when I see it. Cassidy's intuitive enough to sense she has competition. Actually the competition is all in her head, but that's still a problem. I intentionally draw her attention away from Ally by tapping my book. "Why don't we start with the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine?"

This seems to work as Cassidy's attention is diverted. Ally's saved and she doesn't even know it. Cassidy and I buckle down to work for all of ten minutes before Cassidy hops on her phone.

"What do you think of this picture?" She flips her phone toward me. The display is filled with her and three friends wearing tiny bathing suits. "That was last year in St. Thomas. We were thinking of going back there this year."

"Looks good," I say dutifully. I'm a big fan of Instagram. And Twitter. And Snapchat. All of these things have made it exceedingly easy to find like-minded women-women who want one good night and that's it. But I want to study now, and it's a struggle to keep the irritation out of my voice.

My non-effusive compliment doesn't deter Cassidy. Instead she pages through more photos and turns the phone around again. This time she's wearing a shiny sparkly dress standing next to another girl in a sparkly dress. I can barely tell them apart. Idly I wonder whether they'd serve as a disco ball if we strung them up on the ceiling. Maybe we'd just need the dress.

"This was at the fall formal last year. I think I look heavy in this dress. What do you think?"

I squint. She looks as if she ate a diet of carrots and celery for two years. "I think you look nice."

This time, she frowns. "Nice?"

"Yes. Nice. Pretty. Great." I keep tacking on adjectives in hopes I hit on the right one, but I don't inject enough enthusiasm in my voice. And my half-hearted efforts to compliment her kill her desire to study, if she ever had any in the first place. She buries her nose in the phone and after about five minutes of silence, I decide I'm thirsty.

As I wait in line, I stare at the board wondering what the best tasting coffee is for someone who doesn't like coffee. Dark roast seems out. Maybe the light roast? Is that like a steak? The coffee beans are only slightly roasted and so still taste like whatever an uncooked coffee bean tastes like.

"Can I help you?" Ally cocks her head to the side. Her hair is caught up in a ponytail, the ones that I like wrapping around my fist while-

I cut off my train of thought when she clears her throat and delivers a well-mixed look of disdain and contempt as if she knows what I was thinking about just now and figures I'm not much good for anything else. Were her eyes this big last night? Were they this... soft? They look like a puppy dog's eyes. Brown, warm, and endearing. If the puppy thought I was an idiot, that is.

"I'm trying to decide which is the best coffee for me."

"I thought you didn't drink coffee."

"I don't." I shrug. Can I be more obvious? I don't think so. Unfortunately, Ally isn't taking the bait. Another girl would be leaning against the counter, maybe twirling her hair around her finger. Ally looks bored. That should bother me more, but instead I feel kind of energized by her dismissiveness. It's sure as hell different. "You didn't use my number."

"I was studying. We have eight different kinds of tea."

"I have the same problem with tea as I do coffee. Anything else?"

She opens her mouth to ask me what my problem is, then snaps it closed almost immediately. Hmm. Maybe I'm cracking her barrier a tiny bit.

"How about a spiced mulled cider?"

I perk up. "You can make that?" It's January and as cold as a penguin's ass, so spiced cider sounds great.

"Yup." She scribbles something on the cup. I'm guessing it's not her phone number because the vague smile she directs my way is the same one she gave the two students before me and undoubtedly the next one who will come behind me.

I shouldn't feel a twinge of disappointment, but I do.

"Anything else?" she asks tentatively.

Because, like a dumbass, I'm still staring at her. I shift over to the glass case. "I could use an apple streusel."

I'll have to do an extra ten minutes on the sleds tomorrow to pay for that, but what the hell. We just won the championship. I have three weeks until spring ball starts. If I want to eat a piece of cake, this is the time.

"We make it fresh every day." She recites the line with enough boredom to convey she's tired of saying it. As she reaches inside the glass case with a pair of tongs and picks out the biggest slice, she asks, "Would you like it warmed up?"

"I don't know, will I?" The words slide out, husky and provocative, and totally unintended.

Her eyes widen. "Ah, most people do." She shoots me an irritated look and ducks around to heat up my cake while I feel like a total idiot. Not since sixth grade have I been so unpolished with a girl.

My phone buzzes.

 _Dez: Where are u? The chicks at the Gas Station are so hot tonight. It's like winter doesn't exist for them. God bless band-aid dresses._

 _Me: Bandage._

 _Dez: Same thing. Where are u?! Do you think the Christmas break makes these UF girls hotter? I don't remember them being so fine last semester._

 _Me: How much have u had to drink? It's only 8._

 _Dez: Where are u?_

I sigh. If I don't answer him, he'll probably run out of the Gas Station and start yelling my name like the guy who keeps yelling "Stella!" from that movie my mom loves so much.

 _Me: Starbucks. Striking out._

 _Dez: Noooooo._

Hopefully, Dez's drinking with a friend tonight.

My phone vibrates again but this time the screen displays the number fifty-five. It's Jace. Damn, I'm going to miss that bastard when he leaves school at the end of this year.

 _Jace: Dez texted me. Sounds like you need help._

I roll my eyes. _What'd Dez say?_

 _Jace: Screenshotted the convo he could fit on one screen._

 _Me: Dez's shocked to find out that there are women outside the Gas Station. Worse, they have the word no in their vocabulary._

 _Jace: Situation appears dire. Look around. Do you see any adults?_

I look up at Ally, who's talking to her co-worker and actively avoiding me. I think that's a good sign.

 _Me: My ball size indicates I'm the adultest thing here._

The microwave dings, and she slides the streusel out. That's not a good sign. I no longer have an excuse to loiter here at the counter. I point to the first thing I see. "I'll take one of those, too."

"It's coffee cake. This version is made with actual coffee." I don't even have to look at her to know her expression is hovering between this guy is an idiot and when is he going to take his shit and go back to his table.

"Yeah, give me a big piece."

She clearly thinks I'm short-changed in the big head. No clue what she thinks of me otherwise.

 _Me: I haven't been rejected this hard since I tried to block the punt in that game against OSU last semester._

 _Jace: My girlfriend says rejection is good for you. Makes you mentally tough._

 _Me: You love saying that phrase "my girlfriend."_

 _Jace: You bet your fat ass I do._

 _Me: You don't think it's completely strange that you're 21 and acting like a Taylor Swift song?_

 _Jace: Bro, sorry you feel left out. Stop by later and I'll give you a hug._

 _Me: Fuck off._

 _Jace: I have MY GIRLFRIEND to do that for me. Thanks, though. Hug still stands. I'll even let you smell me. MY GIRLFRIEND says I smell delicious._

 _Me: I've smelled you before, which is why I'm not sure how you convinced Trish to date you. She must have defective olfactory senses._

 _Jace: Me and MY defective GIRLFRIEND will be getting it on tonight. While u have only Rosie Palm._

 _Me: Don't worry. I get plenty of variety. Left-hand Laura sometimes steps in._

 _Jace: Heard you were out with Cassidy. Be careful. She eats little linebackers like you for breakfast._

And the fact that I don't even want to make a sexually charged comeback tells me exactly how I feel about Cassidy. Hope she doesn't mind being just study partners.

"Here's your apple streusel and your coffee cake."

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. Ally's cheeks are back to a normal color, and her smile is one that says any future flirtations from me are about as welcome as a nighttime visit from a spider.

"You ever going to use that phone number?"

"I already did." She tips her head down toward the end of the counter. "You can pick up your cider down there."

I open my mouth to say something extremely witty when her male co-worker starts shouting out my phone number. So that's what she wrote on the cup. The entire coffee house looks up at the skinny, hipster dude with his hair gelled so immaculately he might actually be a Ken doll come to life. Ally spares me a glance under her eyelashes, and I can't help but laugh.

I lean forward. "I like that you have it memorized."

She pinkens, and I walk back to Cassidy's table, laden with goodies and the sweet knowledge I actually won a tiny round against the formidable Ally Dawson.

"You know she has stage fright, right?" Cassidy huffs when I sit down and start eating.

"Who?" I shovel the last of the streusel into my mouth and dig into the coffee cake, hoping there's enough butter and sugar in it to overcome any actual coffee taste. After the first swallow, I realize I am an idiot because the cake is gross. I take another big bite and wash the entire mess down with a chaser of Gatorade.

"Ally Dawson!"

I rear back. "Ally? The coffee shop girl?"

"Yes. One of my sisters was in one of her classes, and when she went up to present she totally freaked!"

I finish the coffee cake off before answering. "She's human."

"So you know her?"

God, what's with the fricking inquisition? "Yeah, we're seeing each other," I lie. I figure Cassidy's not going over to confront her about this, so my lie is about the safest one I've ever uttered.

Cassidy's mouth drops open. "Why'd you even come tonight, if you're already dating someone?"

Now it's my turn to be offended. "You said it was a study group."

"And you believed me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Hell, maybe I shouldn't venture outside the Gas Station. It's too complex out here. "This is college, and study groups do exist. A lot. College is to study groups as libraries are to books. They go together."

"But you're a football player. A starter, right?"

"So?"

"So you don't need to study."

"Maybe not, but that's because I'm smart, not because I get a pass for being a football player."

"I thought..." She trails off and looks down at her papers in frustration.

I help her out. "You thought I was a dumb jock and would be grateful for your attention?"

She purses her lips. That's exactly what she thought. "I can share my sorority sister's outline with you." She shoves a set of papers toward me.

"Thanks, but I don't really need it. All of us dumb jocks get free tutoring."

Cassidy picks up her phone and presses something on the screen. She turns it around to face me. With a plastic smile, she says, "How do you like this?"

It's a Snapchat picture of me looking at Ally like she's the tastiest treat in the entire place. The text overlay reads _Austin Moon can win at football, but he loses at life._

"Thanks for taking the picture from the right." It's apparent I should be offended, but Cassidy's game is too obvious. Anyone will read that and know she's the one who got turned down. "It's my best side."

She releases one of those silent screams, the kind where she swallows most of the sound but you still know she's screaming at the top of her lungs. Her bag is packed in seconds, and she takes off in such a rush her hair slaps me across the face.

"You forgot your cider," Ally calls over. "You look like you could use a beer, though. We sell that, too."

"We were just studying."

Ally turns to look in Cassidy's general direction. "That's an unhappy study partner you have there."

"We had a misunderstanding. She thought this was a date and I thought it was a study group."

"So you're not losing at life?"

Apparently the Snapchat is spreading faster than an STD in a frat house.

"When it comes to you, apparently I am."

She rubs a knuckle under her chin. "I get off in fifteen minutes and I need to eat something. You can join me if you want."

I brighten. "Really?"

My obvious enthusiasm earns me a slight frown. "Don't get any ideas. It's not an invitation for anything but sitting across the table from me while I eat."

This is a date even if she won't admit it. "Do I get to eat, too, or do I just sit and watch?"

Her eyebrows squeeze together in a rather adorable way. "You had coffee cake and apple streusel."

"I'm a bottomless pit, or so my mom tells me." My hand falls to my stomach, and her eyes follow in a gratifying manner. Maybe I'm not striking out because the way her gaze is eating me up right now tells me she'd like a side of Austin with her meal.

"Great. Meet me out front in fifteen." Then she spins around and goes back to bustling behind the counter. As if I'm not even here.

Or hell, maybe she's inviting me to dinner to tell me exactly how much she doesn't want to see me again. That would actually be a little on the crazy side, which means I should walk away, but she's hooked me good. So good that, at this point, I'd pretty much follow her pretty ass anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

Ally

"Okay if we go to Crowerly's?" I ask when I meet Austin outside Starbucks. To his credit, he doesn't make a face when I suggest the vegan restaurant. Or he has no clue what they serve.

"Lady's choice." He sweeps out a hand, indicating I should lead the way.

"It's vegan," I tell him.

"All the better. We both know I've had enough sugar and carbs tonight to send a small kid into convulsions. Are you sure you didn't give me two pieces of the coffee cake?" he accuses.

"We are closing in an hour," I admit. "It would've been tossed out if it didn't sell. Besides, I didn't expect you to eat it all."

"Look at me." He holds his arms out wide. "Do I look like a guy who turns down cake?"

I can't stop myself from looking at him. He's got the classic V-shape with the broad shoulders and trim waist. Nothing about him says "coffee cake eater." More like bland chicken and a boatload of vegetables. Of course, he works out two hours or more a day, so maybe he can eat all the cake he wants.

And why do I even care? "I guess not."

Crowerly's is only two blocks down, and neither of us says another word until we're seated across from each other in the booth.

"Did you come to Starbucks tonight because of me?" My tone comes out sharper than I intended, but he doesn't seem insulted. If anything, he looks amused.

"Nope. I told you, I thought I was coming to a study group."

His expression is a bit too innocent for my liking. And damn it, he's too gorgeous for my comfort. Somehow in the span of twenty-four hours I managed to forget how frickin' hot this guy is. I can see now why Piper was all but drooling when she brought up his name.

"Right. Your study group." I show him with my eyes just how much I believe him. Which is not at all. "And I guess knowing I work there had nothing to do with your thought process."

"You give yourself too much credit, Alls. My studies happen to be my number one priority." He smiles sweetly.

"First off, Alls?"

"Yup. We're on a nickname basis now. You're Alls." His lips curve ever so slightly. "You can always pick out a nickname for me. Something like... hmmmm... Gorgeous? I'd answer to that."

I choke down a laugh and snatch the menu. I give it a quick scan just as the waitress appears to take our orders. I ask for a bowl of the butternut squash soup and a coffee, and when Austin winces, I look at the waitress and add, "If you could bring the whole coffee pot and just leave it here, that would be super. My friend loves the smell of fresh-brewed coffee."

He glares at me.

The waitress just looks confused. "Oh, I'm sorry. We can't do that. But I can bring you the jumbo mugs." She glances, mystified, at Austin. "Is that all right?"

Austin sighs.

Once she's gone, he turns to me in exasperation. "Really? Now you're punishing me? For daring to ask you out?"

I can't help but grin. "No, that was just too fun to resist." I go serious again. "As for the 'asking me out' part, I already told you, I'm not interested."

His hazel eyes are smug. "Then why are we having dinner together?"

"We're not."

"You're ordering food. I'm going to order something when she gets back after we talk about this menu-"

"Get the tofu fries and yogurt dip," I interrupt. "They're delicious. Actually, get two orders and I'll eat whatever you don't."

His lips quirk up again, as if he's not at all irritated that I cut him off. "Okay, two orders of tofu fries and then we'll be eating. Together. You do know what together means, right? Close to or in the proximity of another person."

"Very nice, Mr. Dictionary."

He folds his arms on the table and leans across. He's so tall, and the tables at Crowerly's are so small, he's virtually touching me.

"I'm your man if you need some SAT words for your papers." A naughty grin spreads across his face. "I'm a verbal guy. I like saying things almost as much as I like doing them."

He doesn't explicitly define what "things" are, but I'd have to be a total newb not to get his gist. He's talking about sex things. Dirty things. Hot things. The image of this guy bent over me whispering exactly how he's going to touch me, feel me, be with me? I'm going to need a pitcher of water not a mug of coffee.

"How is that even true?" I say skeptically. There's no way he enjoys talking as much as he enjoys screwing some girl.

"Never enjoyed a little dirty talk during your fun time?" He looks disappointed.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I think talking is overrated. Maybe you should practice one aspect-such as the physical-before adding in another component," I say in my most clinical and repressive tones, but even as I utter those words, I know what he's going to say in return. The problem here is that Austin could probably turn anything into a sexual innuendo.

"I'm a big believer in "practice makes perfect," and I don't get my feelings hurt in the face of criticism, which is why you should test out both my physical and verbal skills. Say, tomorrow night?"

I'm saved from answering when the waitress appears with our two big mugs of coffee. Austin shoves his aside and places his order for fries and dip-Crowerly's version of it, at least-and a glass of water. The water appears moments later, as if the waitress can't stand being away from him for even a second.

"I'm busy tomorrow night. I have mock trial practice."

"Nice. I like that. A real excuse. It helps soothe the sting." He rubs his chest in mock pain, and I have to force myself not to stare at how well defined his muscles appear even under his T-shirt.

 _You don't like muscles_ , I remind myself.

"Let's go back to this no-dirty-talking experience. What kind of guys are you dating?"

"Nice ones."

"I'm a nice guy, and I love a little dirty talk. If you sat on my lap right now, I might say something like 'I've been waiting all day to have your ass in my hands,' and you could reply with 'Austin, you're so big.'" His falsetto brings a reluctant smile to my face. "I like big, hot, strong as adjectives. Just an FYI. And then I'd pull you closer so I could nuzzle your neck and say-"

The bell tinkles as the restaurant door opens and four girls walk in. I grab Austin's water and gulp it down. His little tame sampler of dirty talk made me uncomfortably warm. This is exactly why I don't date guys like him.

The girls must have spotted Austin because they bypass three open tables to walk by ours. As they pass, there's a contest of who can flip her hair over her shoulder the hardest. I swear the last two eyefuck him so hard, it's a wonder they make it to their own table upright.

To his credit, he's more interested in the yogurt and tofu the waitress delivered.

"This is tofu?" he asks enthusiastically between giant bites. It only takes two for the entire thing to disappear into his mouth. He wipes off his mouth before telling me, "Tom Brady eats a lot of vegan dishes during the season. Says it keeps him healthy. I should try more of this stuff. I didn't realize it tasted so good."

I'm partly relieved the food has distracted him from his discourse on dirty talking but also partly disappointed. He's... well, dammit, fun to talk to. Ugh. Why? Why can't I smash Ethan and Austin together? Austin's personality with Ethan's safe and quiet attractiveness?

I eat my soup, which somehow tastes better than it ever has before, and I know it's not because there's a new chef. It's because I'm enjoying myself so much.

He eats all but two of the fries and pushes the plate toward my side of the table. "Let's trade. I want to see if I like squash soup because it sounds disgusting and looks a little like the pureed carrot shit I had to eat as a baby."

We exchange dishes, but I don't eat anything. Instead I watch as he uses my spoon to taste the soup. He pulls the spoon from his mouth with a pop, and I swear my entire body starts tingling. "Mmm. Good. A little spice and a little sweet. Don't know how much of that is you and how much is the soup, though."

This is like foreplay. I'm going to have to douse myself in a glass of water. Under the table, I squeeze my thighs together, but that movement only serves to remind me how little action I've seen downstairs. Between him licking the spoon and telling me he wants to taste me, I'm more turned on than I can ever remember being. Which really, really sucks. "Why are you flirting with me?"

He gives me a look that says I can't be that dumb, but apparently I am. I blame it on him. "Because you're smoking hot and I'd like a taste of you directly from the tap." He sets my spoon down. "The better question is, why won't you go out with me? I'm not bragging because there's something between us."

"Where do I start?"

He laughs. He actually laughs at that. "Geez, you have that many. Hold up for a sec. Need to put my big boy pants on."

I roll my eyes. "How about you answer a question of mine?"

"Sure. Shoot."

"Why are you trying so hard?"

"Honestly? Because it's fun."

I raise a brow in pretend confusion, but I know exactly what he means. "Fun?"

Cheerfully, he eats more soup, still using my spoon, before answering. "Haven't had to try this hard in ages. Again, not bragging. It's just the truth. I don't need to work for it anymore. Girls come to me."

"Right, you're so not bragging."

"I'm not." He shrugs. That's just how it is." He pauses. "I play football."

"I know." His eyes light up, and I know what he's thinking. I hold up my hand. "I didn't ask around about you. I recognized you after you left last night. Why didn't you tell me you played football?

"It didn't seem important."

"Bullshit. Being a UF Gator is a big deal on campus. Girls fall all over themselves to be with you."

"Sure, but is that what kind of guy you think I am? Or maybe the better question is whether you're the type of girl who's impressed by that? Because I don't see it." He arches an eyebrow.

He's got me there. "I'm not impressed by that stuff. It's the other way around, actually."

For the first time tonight, he frowns. "That's why you won't go out with me?"

"You could talk anyone you want into dating you. You could probably sell ice to a polar bear."

"If that's true, why are you still resisting?"

I think about my deal with Dallas, which was pretty much a non-issue until this moment. Promising to stay away from football players wasn't exactly a sacrifice on my part-I have nothing in common with Dallas' teammates, and their lifestyles don't mesh with mine. I'm not a prude or anything, even though Dallas has accused me of being one from time to time. Having sex in public isn't my thing. Nor is getting so drunk I can't remember who I slept with the night before. I'm not a party girl. And I'm not interested in party boys.

Austin Moon, as attractive and as tempting as he is, definitely falls into party boy category. Or at least I think he does. I mean, he plays for UF-he has to be a party dude, right?

He's also waiting for an answer. I settle on, "You're not my type."

By the way his brows shoot upward, I can see I've surprised him. "You're anti-football or anti-athlete?"

"I've never dated either, so I can't tell you."

"It's not fair that you're anti-football player. It's discriminatory. I'm going to need to speak to the Honors Council about this," he jokes. "Who is your type?"

I toy with the last tofu fry. "I dated Ethan, my co-worker at Starbucks."

"Ethan?" Austin's forehead furrows as he tries to remember the rather unremarkable Ethan. "He looks like a Ken doll. His hair is all-" Austin rubs his hand over his own perfectly mussed blond locks.

"He uses a lot of product," I admit.

"So you like metrosexuals?"

"No." It never occurred to me that Ethan is a metrosexual, but he did have more products in the bathroom than I do. "I guess I thought he was..." I don't have a better word, so I just say it. "Safe."

I'm kind of embarrassed at how weak my reasoning is. It doesn't sound good stated out loud. I feel my cheeks starting to burn. Scrambling, I try to articulate a few better excuses. "You're funny and attractive and any other girl would be thrilled to be sitting where I am right now." I tip my head toward the table of four girls who still can't tear their eyes away from Austin. "But I'm busy, you look like a lot of effort, and I don't think you're a good risk.

He bobs his head as he considers my defense. "Those are all good reasons, but they don't really apply to me. The busy thing I can buy-hell, I've used that myself. But I look like a lot of effort? And I'm not a good risk? What the hell does that mean?"

I sigh. "You're like a really expensive designer purse. I want it but know a) I can't afford it and b) even if I could I'd be so obsessive about checking the condition that I wouldn't even enjoy it. Plus, everyone else would want to touch it, hold it. Someone might even want to steal it, and that'd be a certain kind of stress I wouldn't want to deal with."

"You're overthinking this, Alls."

"I don't doubt that I am. I look at things from all angles. Every. Single. Angle. Maybe that's weird, but that's what I do. I'm this way about all of my life decisions, even the small ones. I was breaking out last year because of my shampoo, so I needed to switch. I spent a week researching dozens of different brands. After culling the list to ten, I made up a matrix listing all the ingredients, their function, and the comedogenic rating before settling on one I could still buy at the drugstore but wasn't going to break me out. The process took three weeks."

Austin looks a little winded by my example, so I hit him with another one.

"Remember how hot it was last fall?" He nods. I'm sure he does. Dallas cursed about it every day, saying he'd rather play for a cold climate team than a hot one. "My roommates and I went to The Keys. My roommates, Piper and Carrie, decide to strip down and go skinny-dipping despite the big white sign that says 'No skinny-dipping, punishable by a fine of up to $500.' They yelled for me to get in while I considered all the scenarios of getting arrested, of being dragged down the beach without any clothes on, of how many snakes were in the water. I'd read an article about a woman getting leeches up her girl parts." Austin lanches at this as any sane person would. "And since it wasn't chlorinated, how many people had peed in it? But I was so hot, and the water looked so good."

"Did you do it in the end?" he asks, but he probably knows the answer.

I shake my head. "By the time I decided to take my clothes off, Piper and Carrie were cold and got out."

He sighs. "Sounds like your risk assessments keep you from having fun as opposed to keeping you safe."

"I don't look at it that way. The odds are in my favor. Risky behavior is labeled risky because there's a chance someone is going to get hurt. There's nothing negative with wanting to avoiding being hurt or injuring someone you care about." I find myself explaining my reasoning in elaborate detail. Is it because he looks interested? I wish I could shut up.

"You don't regret not swimming with your friends? Because it kind of sounds like you do. That was a wistful note when you said the water looked so good." He leans toward me again. "How about this. I'll take all the risks and you just come along for the ride."

"Austin, dating isn't the risk. You're the risk." I lay down a few bills for my meal. "I'm not unhappy with how I live now. There's nothing wrong with making measured decisions and weighing the risks versus the benefits."

He watches me while I pull on my coat. "You're right that there's nothing wrong with how you're living. I'm not judging that. I'm just saying maybe your life could be happier. And that sometimes taking a risk gives you big rewards."

"And you're that big reward?"

He smiles wide. "You won't know unless you give me a try."

* * *

Austin

"What crawled up your shorts and died?" Dez bursts into my room the next morning. Dez isn't happy I've skipped going out with him.

I swivel in my desk chair, hoping my head blocks the computer monitor behind me. "Are you missing me when you go out to the bars? Is it difficult to pick up chicks when I'm not around? I told you that you got to stop using the line about being an advice columnist. That shit isn't attractive."

"Are you studying?" he asks incredulously, ignoring my insults. It's three in the afternoon, and I can smell the booze on him even though he's ten feet away. Granted, it's Friday, and off-season Fridays are meant to be days spent drunk and lazy. "Is this because of the girl that turned you down?"

"Nope. Just trying to keep my head down," I lie. Geez. I'm lying to randoms and to my best friends. The only person I'm being completely honest with is Ally, and she doesn't want to have anything to do with me.

But I did take away something other than rejection from dinner last night. Ally's approach to risk-taking is crazy as all get out-who makes an extensive pros and cons list about shampoo?-but one thing she'd said had stuck in my mind.

 _I look at it from all angles. Every. Single. Angle._

Me, I'm a one angle kind of guy. As in, the easiest option available to me. The path of least resistance.

This particular issue needs more finesse. Coach wants me to persuade Dallas to give up the quarterback position, for fuck's sake. And to persuade the guys-including the offense, who are rabidly loyal to their QB-to support this course of action. They say you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, but in this case, I'm smashing the entire frickin' carton. There's no way to do this without pissing off some, if not all, of my teammates.

And seriously, when did I become the omelet chef in this scenario? I'm not sure I even want to be captain, dammit. Responsibility makes the back of my neck itch. I'd much rather be one of the happy, oblivious sheep than the stressed-out shepherd who has to guide them.

Except... the thing is, I can't say no, not when it comes to football. This sport is in my blood. I live and breathe it. I'm good at it. And, corny as it sounds, I think I was meant for it.

One reason I'm so good on the football field is my uncanny instinct to know exactly which weakness I can exploit in the easiest, most economical way, ensuring that my hits at the end of the game are as hard as the ones at the beginning. Part of it comes from hours of film study, which helps me to immediately recognize what play is going to be run based on the position of the offensive players. The other part is God-given talent.

I operate the same way off the field. I don't have to analyze or overthink the dilemma but just pick the solution that makes the problem go away the fastest. There's no film study for life. Or if there is, I haven't found it.

This is why, for the last four hours, I've been watching videos of Mr. Texas. The captain's patch is currently burning a hole in my desk drawer, but I don't want the captaincy bad enough to dick over my quarterback. I might not always love what Dallas does on the field. There've been a few games when the offense couldn't generate more than thirteen points and made the load on the defense fucking hard. And even though we won those games, a few of us grumbled under our breath. But thinking you'd like to kick your quarterback in the ass is one thing; doing it is entirely different.

Dez studies me and comes to some inebriated conclusion that requires him to drag my reading chair from by the window over to the desk.

He folds his hands and gives me a serious look. "Do you have a fucking test or something? You can't be failing any classes yet. The semester just started two weeks ago."

"I'm not failing anything. You smell like you took a bath in a tub of vodka, Dez." I wave a hand in front of my nose. "Where were you?"

He lifts his shirt and sniffs. "Fuck, I can't smell anything. Do I really stink, because I got a guy coming over in"-he checks his phone-"ninety minutes."

"Then you best go take a shower." Anything to get him out of here.

"Nah, I mean, if you got a problem, brother, then I can meet up with this dude later." He types something into his phone and looks up at me with bleary eyes.

Damn, he's a good friend, and frankly, I need someone to share this shit with. As soon as this recruit signs his intent papers, it's going to be all over the news anyway. But... I'd rather talk to a sober Dez. It's hard to tell with him. His capacity for alcohol is kind of shocking.

"How much of your stink is from your drinking and how much is just from you rolling around on the floor of the Tau Omega house?"

He throws up his size fifteens onto the desk, and I push them off. "I had four shots."

Four shots is sober for Dez. I wheel away from desk and turn around. "Come here."

He leans over, one hand braced against the desk. "Please tell me we're watching porn."

"With you hovering over me like a mother on her first recruiting visit? I'm not even going to watch a cooking video with you this close."

"Mmm. You know I love me some Giada De Laurentiis. That chick is a fucking goddess."

"Swear to God, you touch your dick right now and I'm going to punch you in the nuts." I click through my list of previously played videos and pick the one where Mr. Texas played the worst. He only passed for 240 yards that game, and his team only won by twenty-two points. Only.

Dez begins cycling through the videos. After five minutes of total silence, he jerks to his feet. "Let's get Trent and Jace in here."

"Trent isn't on the team anymore," I point out.

"Yeah, but like you said, we aren't talent scouts. Let's get some other eyes on this."

There's no point in protesting because Dez's out the door by his last word, yelling for Jace and Trent, our nose tackle, to come up.

Jace appears first. His girlfriend must be busy because usually they're in Jace's upstairs apartment trying to break some kind of record for most sex in a twenty-four-hour period. Jace was a virgin before he and Trish hooked up, and now he's trying to make up for all those lost years. It's a miracle Trish can walk.

Jace claps his hands together. "Heard you were holed up in your bedroom for two nights running, so either your pipes are getting backed up or you have some girl stashed under the bed. And I have to tell you that the type of girl willing to live under your bed for days at a time is the type that will kill you in your sleep."

"Is this from personal experience? If so, I want to be the first to tell you that it was nice knowing you and I hope you're okay with me comforting Trish after your unfortunate passing."

Jace gives me a death glare. "I'm going to kill you right now, asshole. Right now."

"Hold up," Dez says from the doorway. "No killing until after we watch these videos."

Jace points to each of us. "Seems to me if I lay waste to all of you, I can avoid watching game film and go upstairs to-"

"My girlfriend," we all chorus in unison.

He's addicted to calling Trish his girlfriend. It's mildly irritating, but Jace couldn't give a fuck. He's always marched to the beat of his own drum.

"What're we watching?"

"This." I start playing the videos. The guys crowd around the monitor while I watch them. Their expressions turn from slight boredom to interest to this guy is the greatest thing since Joe Montana drank his chicken noodle soup at halftime and went out and scored three touchdowns. Video after video plays, each showcasing Mr. Texas's perfect passes, his pocket sense, his rocket arm, and his ability to elude the defense.

"That run got me hard," Trent groans.

"Me too," Dez agrees.

"Dick's in hand," Jace confirms.

Finally, Dez pushes away. "Someone shut that porn off. I can only get so erect."

He collapses on the bed and looks at the ceiling. Trent looks confused, but Jace catches on right away.

"Is Coach recruiting this kid?" He jerks a thumb at the computer screen.

"Has recruited. Has a commitment. Wants me to smooth his path."

"What about Dallas?" asks Trent.

Jace strokes his chin. "Recruit has a better arm than Dallas. Makes decent decisions on the field. Dallas' primary skill is not making mistakes, keeping a cool head, and seeing the short option down the field."

The videos have started replaying, but I've watched about as much Mr. Texas as I can stomach. I reach over and flick the computer off.

"I gotta go shit and shower," Dez announces and rolls his rank carcass off my bed. "I'm a worker bee. Tell me which target to destroy and it's gone. But I'm for Mr. Texas. Dallas will come around." At the door, he pauses, "Either way, I've got your back."

"Same," Jace declares and disappears with Dez. Only Trent remains.

"You know you gotta do this," he tells me.

"No, I don't know anything." I find my wallet and stick it into my back pocket. The room is stifling. I need to get out of here.

"Austin, you gotta be the leader here."

"Why?"

Trent gives me a perturbed look. "Sophomore year we played Penn. We were set for a blitzing play, but I ended up intercepting the ball. Why?"

"When we got to the line, the offensive was set up for a dig route across the middle by the slot receiver. Blitzing would have put our guys out of position."

"Right. You came over to me and we changed it up. Had four men rush the quarterback. I dropped back, and the ball landed in my hands. "

"You ran it back for a touchdown." I grin. That was a good play.

"Because you recognized the offensive play. I didn't. I have great natural talent, but you memorize the game. We sit in film and you see it once and it's imprinted in your head. That's why the defense is going to follow you."

"I don't want that. I don't want that kind of responsibility."

"Too bad," he says unsympathetically.

"This isn't even leadership," I scowl. "It's mutiny."

Trent tries a different tack. "You once told me your favorite character from your favorite series was the bad guy who'd done a heinous deed because it helped save the world."

I pause with one arm shoved into my winter coat and glare at my friend. "That's fucking low, T. Real fucking low. I was drunk off my ass when I told you that story."

"I know," he says unrepentantly. "Don't change the facts, though."


	4. Chapter 4

Ally

"You grabbed the steering wheel as the ice resurfacer took off?" Elle asks, her voice heavy with disbelief.

In the chair we designated as the witness seat, Sun Hee nods with pretend wariness and probably very real confusion since Elle is not supposed to be cross-examining her.

"Is that a yes?" I mutter under my breath. Elle misses her cue, though, and stands, forgetting that all non-verbal responses have to be verbalized or it's not part of the appealable record. It's something we're specifically scored on in competitions. I hold my breath. Please tell me she's not going to approach without-

"Let me show you what you said in your deposition," Elle says and swishes her way across the fake courtroom floor.

Beside me, Miles groans. Elle whips around with a glare hot enough to make the papers in front of us burst into flames.

"What did I do wrong this time, Mr. Perfect?"

Miles rests his fists against the surface of the table, looking ready to spring out of his chair and launch himself at Elle. "How long do we have because that entire line of questioning is completely insane. Sun Hee is our client. We don't cross-examine our own client."

"Miles, she's new," I remind him. The last thing we need is for Elle to blow her top, too. In the four practices we've had since the semester started, these two have been at each other's throats, rendering the whole team tense and unhappy. Regionals are in the middle of March, right before Spring Break, and none of us is going to make it to the tournament at this rate. We'll have clawed each other to death well before then. It'll be our own version of the Valentine's Day Massacre.

The rest of our mock trial team shifts impatiently behind us. It's time to call it a night even though we achieved nothing productive.

I get to my feet. "We've been at this for two hours. Why don't we adjourn for tonight and we'll take it up again in two days?"

"Hopefully Elle will practice in those two days. Maybe read a few of our materials on how to conduct an examination?" Miles sneers.

Elle's response is predictably tart in return. "At least I actually bring some emotion to this dead room. Your opening was so monotone that five minutes felt like five years. Plus, do you have any clothes that don't scream tacky? Hand to God, I've seen mannequins at the Salvation Army tricked out in better clothes than you have on."

Miles blanches and turns ashy pale. Elle's good at dishing out insults like this. And Miles, a scholarship student like me, readily takes the bait. "If only you'd inherited some actual skill from your dad instead of just his wallet."

When Elle opens her mouth to deliver another cutting remark, I jump in. "All right. We don't need to snap at each other. I think we're tired, hungry, and just need a break. Elle, if you could, there's a set of sample questions in the original packet that show the difference between cross and direct. I can resend them to you via email if you want." Hell, I'd write the entire examination if she'd agree to memorize and read it, but any time I've hinted at offering help, she shuts me down. "Miles, Elle's new to this. We've got ten weeks, and I'm sure we're all going to make mistakes between now and the Regionals, so let's give each other room to make them. Patience." I give them both a smile.

Miles' a stellar attorney-in-training. He's sharp witted, quick on his feet, and can deliver a rousing argument. We need him. But we need Elle, too, because despite her inexperience, her tryout was the best we've seen since... well, our freshman year. Once Miles' blood stops roaring in his ears, he'll remember why we chose Elle in the first place.

I made out an extensive risk assessment spreadsheet-even factoring in that Elle was inexperienced -and Miles had agreed with every item on the list.

"Pack it up," I tell the rest of the crew, who gratefully shove their materials into their backpacks and scoot out of the borrowed classroom.

"Thanks," Sun Hee murmurs as she passes by the desks Miles and I pushed together to form our attorney table. "I was dying up there."

"No problem. You did well. You looked vulnerable and victimized. The judges will love you."

Our mock trial matches are judged by a panel of three individuals, usually attorneys in the community where the competition takes place. They score us on everything from correct courtroom procedure to witness demeanor and believability. After two straight years of losing in Regionals to Central, Miles and I were determined to field a winning team.

We recruited students from the theatre department to play our witnesses, and we were going to ask Devin, a Poli-Sci pre-law major to be our third attorney, but then Elle tried out and the closing argument she delivered in the tryouts nearly moved Mr. Conley to tears.

I pause while putting my things away. Is it possible my risk assessment toward Austin also includes incorrectly weighted items? Not all football players are horndogs. Elliot, one of Dallas' closest friends on the team, is seriously devoted to his girlfriend.

"You forget something?" Miles asks as he wrestles one of the desks back into position.

I look up in mild surprise. I'd forgotten where I was for a moment. "Nope. Let me help you with that." I have to get Austin Moon out of my head.

We finish tidying up the room, putting all the desks and chairs back into their uniform rows while Elle inspects her nails by the door. I try not to let that irritate me. Miles, on the other hand? He huffs and puffs and sighs the entire time, which is annoying in its own way.

Once we're done and I've worked up an unfortunate sweat under my button-down, Elle saunters over to run a finger along a desk.

"I think this isn't quite straight." She shoves it lightly with her hip.

Miles releases a growl from the back of his throat while I bite back a snarky retort. Taking a deep breath, I try again to play peacemaker.

"Did you need something, Elle?" I'm not sure why she's hanging around.

She shrugs, a delicate movement. Elle is very pretty. In fact, if she wasn't so intent on being an attorney, she'd have done a great job as our jaywalking victim who got struck by a car. "Not particularly. I was wondering, though, how it was decided that you'd be in charge, Edgar?"

I school my features into an impassive expression, not wanting her to know that I hate being called by my middle name. I've told her at least twice that I prefer to be called Ally, but since she continues to call me Edgar, my guess is she's trying to get every last dig in wherever she can. "I'm not in charge. Mr. Conley is." Mr. Conley is a local trial attorney who volunteers her time to train us.

"But you put the team together. You were the contact person on the sign-up sheet for this elective." She rubs her finger along the side of the desk, looking sweet and innocent, but I've spent two weeks with this girl and it's been long enough to realize that sweet and innocent is an act Elle adopts when she wants something.

"Miles lost his cellphone so it made sense for me to put mine on there while he was getting it replaced," I explain.

"That's convenient for you, isn't it?"

I glance over at Miles because I have no idea where she's going with this. Miles' expression is one of confusion, too.

"I don't know if I'd say it was convenient. I had to field a hundred calls and about a quarter of them were crank ones that asked me if the try out was for my ass."

Elle smirks. "You're still in charge. The others in the group listen to you."

"None of us is in charge. We're all working together toward the same goal. You told me last fall when you tried out that you wanted to join to help us defeat Central and hopefully go on and win Nationals," I remind her.

"See, that's why I'm worried."

"About what?" I shoulder my backpack, wishing I had escaped with the rest of the team, but that would mean leaving Miles and Elle alone, and I was afraid if that happened, only one would be alive for our next practice.

"I'm wondering whether we've assembled the right pieces for the team. You're good as an administrative point person. You know, signing us up, getting us the schedule, passing out the materials, but you really don't have the killer instinct a lawyer needs." Ouch. But her ability to accurately hit at all of our insecurities after just a short time means she'll be really good in competition, I remind myself.

I grit my teeth, but Miles has had enough. "Ally is the best attorney on our team."

She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "If Edgar is so amazing, why isn't she doing either the opening or closing? Why am I, someone you say has no experience and no skill, delivering the closing? Isn't that the most important role of the whole team? We can hide the weak link between the two of us." She drags her eyes down Miles' perfectly fine outfit once again. "But if you don't dress better, no one is taking us seriously."

With that last arrow, she spins on her heel and walks away.

"I can buy a suit, but you can't buy class," Miles yells after her.

"Might want to brush up on your insults," Elle calls casually over her shoulder. "That one's older than your shoes."

"I got these shoes last year."

"From Goodwill?"

I step in front of Miles as he lunges toward the doorway Elle just exited.

"It's not worth it," I tell him.

Miles rages, pulling away from me and straightening his sweater in a huff. "Don't you care that she basically called you incompetent?"

I shift uncomfortably because, while Elle's words stung, I don't know if she was entirely wrong. I mean, I'm not incompetent, but isn't part of competence knowing your limits? "I thought you were sitting right beside me when I crashed and burned our freshman year?"

Miles clicks his tongue in sympathy. "It was a mistake. You froze. We've all had a similar experience once in our lives. When I was in eighth grade speech class, I couldn't get more than two words out in rebuttal."

"Miles?"

"Yeah?" He smiles brightly.

"You're not helping." I squeeze his shoulder. "I don't like the way she says it, but we both know where my skill set lies and it isn't with on-the-fly exposition needed for a good closing argument. And you hate doing rebuttals, so we needed a closer. We all agreed she was the best of everyone who tried out."

He makes a face. "You could do it if you wanted to."

"Then I guess my answer is I don't want to." I'd rather suffer a hundred insults than have to stand up and speak for ten minutes straight while everyone sitting in the audience picks apart every single word I've said wrong. Been there, done that, failed epically.

"You need to keep that bitch in check," Miles says. He pulls on his winter coat in sharp, exaggerated movements. He doesn't want me to miss that he's pissed off. As if it wasn't obvious. But, I suppose his dramatics are partly why he's so engaging.

"It'll be fine," I soothe. "Once she gets the hang of things, you'll be thrilled."

"She better," he says ominously.

"Or what?" I ask, losing my patience. "You'll quit?"

"Maybe." He sticks his nose in the air, looking every inch like Elle as he waltzes out the door. I should videotape him next time so he sees exactly how similar the two are. I want to throw a pencil at his head.

Between the stress of mock trial and the conundrum of Austin Moon, I'm going to worry myself into an early grave. Could one thing go my way? Just one?

* * *

I'm still worrying about both topics when I show up to my shift at Starbucks the next day. At least with mock trial, we have weeks of practice to work out the kinks. With Austin, I fear the only way to exorcise him is to move across the country and enter a nunnery. He's popping up in my dirty fantasies far too often. This morning I got up early because I feared if I stayed one more minute in bed, I'd call him and beg him to come over to help me work off some of my tension.

Which is why I'm thirty minutes early for work. I quickly discover this is a good thing, because a familiar figure is waiting for me when I walk in.

Dallas rises from his table and greets me with his trademark ladies' man grin.

"Hey, Ally."

I bustle over and give him a big hug. "When did you get back?"

"Just this morning."

Dallas and I, we're tied together by our family history. It's not pretty and, for a time there, the only people we had to lean on were each other. Besides my dad, Dallas is the one steady thing in my life, so even though I find him exasperating and a little too arrogant nowadays, I still care for the big lug.

"How's your dad?"

"Same old." The two have a rocky relationship but at least they talk, unlike my mom and me. Dallas claims the only reason his dad wants to connect now is because he thinks Dallas is going to be a rich NFL player. I don't think Dallas is entirely wrong. "Had some interviews with the local Miami stations. Kind of a 'hometown boy done good' sort of thing."

"You didn't grow up in Miami," I point out.

"Who cares? It was fun."

He is really loving the post-win attention. "I got to give my NFL Super Bowl picks. We talked about the draft."

"Was your dad there?"

"Yup. He was like a kid at Christmas."

I bet. "Everything else going well? No one gave you any shit for missing a week of classes?"

"Ally," Dallas chides. "I just won the National Championship. No one is giving me shit over anything."

"Good. Because I need to take advantage of your good mood."

"Sure. What do you need?"

"I'm getting kicked out of my apartment on Tuesday. Mind if I stay at your place? I can sleep on the sofa."

"No problem." His eyes warm up as he pulls out a small, wrapped gift. "Happy belated Christmas."

"You already gave me a present," I object. We exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve at my dad's house. Dad and I went in together to get Dallas a nice pair of sunglasses. He'd been complaining all fall that the ones he had were low rent and janky. The school supplies him with endless athletic gear, all the shoes he wants, and he got some sweet gifts for going to the bowl game the previous year, but not one pair of sunglasses.

Dallas gave me a pair of gold hoop earrings. I think his mom picked them out, but they were nice. I wish I had worn them today.

"I didn't pay for it, so it doesn't really count." Dallas' job is football, so he doesn't have a lot of extra cash around, which makes me really curious about the gift. I slide a fingernail under the tape and pop it open, careful not to tear the paper.

"Come on, Ally. It's just newspaper," he scolds.

"I can't help it." It's some old newspaper but it's still wrapping. As I lift off the paper, I gasp in surprise. It's a pair of cordless headphones-a very expensive pair. I know this because it was a selection in a catalog of items that one of the bowl sponsors was allowed to gift the players as a thank you for playing in the bowl. "Dallas, what is this?"

He grins. "I know you were saying how you hated wearing your headphones because the cords get tangled in your hair."

"You should have picked something for yourself." The generosity of this gift makes me uneasy. The echo of Piper's teasing voice tickles at the back of my brain. Besides, Dallas made that stupid pact up so he can keep you to himself. I'd scoffed at her then, but I don't feel so sure now.

"I did. I picked the same pair. The voucher was enough to get two pair."

"I thought you were getting a television." We actually discussed this. He showed me the brochure, pointed to the 42" flat screen, and said it would look great in his room. I agreed.

"There are plenty of guys with televisions in the house." He shrugs. "It's non-returnable, so don't make a big deal out of it, yeah?"

I can see he's uncomfortable, too, so I tuck the headphones away in my bag and lean over to kiss him on the cheek. Halfway there, I think better of it and reach over and squeeze his arm instead. "Thank you."

Dallas gives me a crooked grin as if he knows I changed my mind midflight, but thankfully he doesn't ask me about it. He's probably relieved. "So how's mock trial going?"

I take the change of subject and run with it. "It's not. We're sucking right now. That new girl, Elle, is killing us. I thought for sure that she'd have picked up on some trial procedures from her dad, but it's like she doesn't even know he is a lawyer. I feel like I've made a bargain with the devil. I can't handle her, and Miles is livid at nearly everything that comes out of her mouth."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"Send her over to the field house. We'll whip her into shape. Although..." Dallas trails off, looking momentarily troubled.

"Although what?" I prompt.

"Coach is acting kind of weird. I went in there to do a few sets before class and ran into him. He kind of mumbled hello into his hand and took off."

I make a sympathetic noise. Dallas has always complained that his relationship with Coach wasn't what he wished it could be. I told him that maybe he shouldn't sleep with the coach's daughter. Dallas brushed me off, saying that no one knew.

Given how many times I saw them together, and I don't even hang out at the Gas Station or where Dallas lives, I figured he was wrong, but Dallas is so darned hard-headed. You can't get him to change his mind once he's convinced he's right about something. Even if you shove all the facts in the world into his face, he'll still believe what he wants to believe.

"Coach probably doesn't know what to do with himself now that he can't yell at you guys to do push-ups."

"Is that what you think we do at practice?" he teases. "Endless amounts of push-ups?"

"Who knows? I ask you what you're doing during the season and the answer is always 'working out' or 'lifting.'"

"Fair enough," he grins. "What's been going on with you besides hating mock trial? You know, you are allowed to quit things you don't enjoy."

"You hate football sometimes, and I don't see you quitting."

Dallas raises an eyebrow. "I've never hated football."

"Yeah, well I don't hate mock trial either. I love it." I love putting the pieces of the puzzle together and drafting up the arguments and questions and answers. It's the extemporaneous speaking part I struggle with. "Even if I didn't love it, my scholarship depends on me being part of the team. And if I'm going to be part of the team, we're going to be good."

Dallas nods. One thing we both enjoy is winning, which is why the last couple of years have been kind of a downer for me. Maybe that's why I'm so interested in Austin Moon.

He's fun to be around and when I'm with him, I don't dwell on how crappy my mock trial is going or how I was forced to spend Christmas with my mother and her current boyfriend. He was the third guy she'd dated this year. I didn't realize how many over-forty single men there are out there. Although, my mother doesn't limit herself to single men. That'd be too silly.

So it isn't a great surprise that I find myself asking Dallas about Austin even though I know the topic will bring out a great deal of scowls and lectures. But his phone number is burning a hole in my head, and I'm afraid if I don't use it, I might suffer some permanent head trauma. "I ran into one of your teammates the other day. He was in here. You spreading the word about our great coffee?"

"Hell no. I keep this place a secret." Dallas looks almost serious, almost... pissed off that one of the football players has dared step foot into Starbucks. "Which one?"

As nonchalantly as possible, I say, "Austin Moon."

Saying his name out loud conjures up all the shivery feelings he roused in me. He was so much fun to talk with, and his offer to show me risks, to take all the risks so I could just go along for the ride... God, I want to test out his verbal skills. I hope I'm not blushing.

"That hound? I hope he didn't say anything to you. Moon can't walk by a vagina without wanting to test it out," Dallas says crudely.

"He did ask me out," I admit.

"And you turned him down, of course." He smiles. "I shouldn't worry. I know you can take care of yourself."

I ignore the compliment and latch on to the of course. "Of course? Why, of course?"

First Piper and Carrie and now Dallas? Am I that predictable? Actually, yes, I am that predictable. And that used to be okay. Why does it bother me now?

"Because there are rules, Ally. There's a locker room rule of no dating girlfriends or sisters."

"But I'm not either your girlfriend or your sister," I object.

"Close enough." He waves his hand as if semantics aren't important here, and I suppose Dallas and I have been friends for so long we are as close as brother and sister. "Besides, even if there wasn't a locker room rule, which there is, we made a deal."

"Would it really be a big deal if I broke it?" I don't know why I ask because I have no intention of using Austin's number, no matter how many times I've punched it into the keypad only to erase it. "Not that I want to," I say, not sure if my words are meant to reassure Dallas or myself. "I'm just asking out of curiosity."

"Absolutely," he says firmly with a frown on his face. "Because if you dated one of them, I'd have to kill them."

"Why? You always say you'd take a bullet for your teammates."

"Yeah, I would. But if one of them broke my best friend's heart? I'd be the one pulling the trigger." He leans forward. "How many times have I told you? The guys on the team are no good."

"They can't be all bad."

My lack of agreement only makes Dallas frown harder. "You're a nice girl. You don't hang out at the Gas Station and you're not a jersey chaser. You're not built for the one-night stands that these girls are looking for."

"There's nothing wrong with one-night stands. Nice girls do plenty of one-night stands," I object. "I've had them and they aren't any better or worse than sex in a long-term relationship."

Dallas winces. "Can we not talk about your sex life?"

If possible, his frown lines become even more prominent, which makes me laugh. "I love how you suddenly turn prudish when the subject is me having sex. I'm not a virgin."

"If you say so." He glowers, making me chuckle even more. "Look, Ally, just because the guys are good teammates doesn't make them good boyfriends. These guys get offered so much pussy that they don't know how to treat a girl right. They don't have to. They just need to whip their dick out and the girls are fighting to be the one to jump on it."

Now I'm wincing because that's an ugly picture of both the guys and the girls involved. But somehow I get the sense that Dallas is speaking from actual experience, so I feel even grodier. The thing is, Austin didn't come off that way. As he pointed out, he didn't play the football card when he so easily could have, when it had such good results in the past.

"Austin didn't seem like a dog. He was kind of nice."

Dallas snorts. "Yeah, he's real nice. Here, let me show you how nice he is to girls."

My heart lurches, because I don't like the disgust in Dallas' eyes. And I'm worried when he pulls out his phone. He scrolls through a #GatorsWin hashtag, and while there are pictures of the players celebrating a touchdown, there are also plenty of pictures showing Austin Moon kissing many, many, many girls. So many different ones I start to get dizzy. #GatorsWin clearly has more than one meaning to the Gators faithful.

"He's fully clothed," I point out, but it's a weak attempt to make what I'm seeing less... sleazy, I guess. But damn it, I didn't get a sleazy vibe from him at all. He didn't look at other girls in the restaurant even once. The waitress practically tried to rub her tits into his nose, but his attention was focused solely on me.

The picture of Austin constructed from my interaction with him is entirely different than the one that Dallas has painted, but truthfully, didn't I really believe, deep down, that Austin's interest in me was shallow and would last no longer than one night, maybe two? That's why he's got so many checkmarks in the risk column. I add another one there, just to be on the safe side.

Dallas tugs on a hank of my hair. "Stay away from Moon, Ally. Promise me that. I don't want to spend the off-season worrying about you."

"I will." The words sound unconvincing to me, but Dallas looks pacified.

Inwardly, I worry that I'll be breaking promises all over the place. To Dallas, and most importantly, to myself.


	5. Chapter 5

Austin

The weekend is shot to shit. I have no interest in smoking weed, drinking myself into a coma, or getting laid, and end up taking long walks around campus. I find myself outside Starbucks several times and looking up at different apartment complexes wondering if Ally's inside.

For some reason, I failed to get her number. For some reason, I still want it. I've never pursued a girl in my life, and I don't even know if this is the time to start, particularly with all the team shit going down.

What do I even know of this girl, other than that she eats tofu, works at a coffee shop, and has puppy dog eyes I keep seeing when I close mine. And she's risk averse.

I need some of her analyzation skills right now. We could make a pro/con assessment of Dallas moving or me sticking my nose into the whole mess as Coach ordered me to. And then, after I've worked it out on paper, we could release some tension between the sheets.

I've got a lot of built-up tension. Coach and me exchanged terse words about my conditioning on Saturday, which is complete and utter bullshit because I work harder in the weight room than anyone on defense. I'm there every day of the week, even during the off-season, for frickin' sake.

Coach's words had zero to do with my lifting and everything to do with the fact that I haven't persuaded Dallas to move to safety. Shit, it's been less than a week. I know that National Signing Day, the day that all the top recruits announce their college choices, is only a few weeks away, but give a guy a moment to breathe.

I went to the Gas Station with Dez on Friday and Saturday nights, just to settle him down and so I can report back to Coach that I at least carried out part one of his directives. Arms folded, I stood in the middle of the bar and glared at all my teammates.

Dez told me to pick a girl and leave because I was bringing everyone down. But being the heavy hand was the point.

And no one did anything stupid under my watch that night. No bathroom sex. No under-the-table hand action. No shot-drinking challenges. The team ended up going home early, taking the party-and the women-with them.

I went, too, but alone, because there wasn't one girl in the place who made my dick move. Apparently my dick likes rejection because it gets hard when I think about Ally, when I stand outside of Starbucks, but not when hot babes wearing down-to-fuck dresses are batting their eyelashes at me.

I swear to God, the scent of coffee Dez was brewing this morning had me mooning about her. Jacking off to a girl I exchanged a few words with at a coffee shop is a new one for me.

The only thing to do is talk to her again. I can admit when I'm hung up on something. After all, I have no problem admitting I love football, and I really don't have a problem with being drawn to one particular girl. The only issue is that she views me as a bad risk.

So how am I overcoming that?

My sour mood follows me all the way to the weight room and then plummets into my feet when I spot Dallas working out.

I pause just inside the door and watch Dallas and Elliot heckle each other. A new quarterback may not have the same relationship with the O-line or the receivers, so no matter how good he is on film, it could be a huge mistake to stick him into the starting lineup. I don't get why Coach doesn't let Mr. Texas watch the game for a year. That's what I did, and it paid off big time.

I head for a free weight bench. Nice thing about being one of the early birds is that the place doesn't stink of sour sweat and unshaved pits. Someone else will be breathing my stink today.

I get fifteen minutes into my routine and I'm working up a good fucking sweat. Ordinarily I'd be riding that endorphin wave, but any good feeling is negated by Dallas' presence in the room. I run a scratchy towel over my face as Dallas goes through yet another shoulder exercise.

There are a total of four guys in here working their tails off on a day that doesn't count, and one of them is Dallas. I can't do this to him. I can't go behind his back and foment some kind of insurrection against him. The defense would follow my lead. I know they would, but what kind of teammate would that make me?

I slam my towel on the bench and get up. Jace just happens to be taking a break, and I jerk my head toward Elliot. He needs to go. Jace nods.

"Hey, Elliot, I was thinking about buying Trish this jacket. Would you mind taking a look at it?"

"Sure, what've you got?" Elliot rises from the leg press and walks over to Masters.

"It's out in my bag."

I wait until the door closes behind Jace and Elliot before turning to Dallas. "Got a minute?"

He lifts his chin in acknowledgment, and I wait as he finishes his set.

"What's up, Moon?" he asks, dropping his weights to the ground.

I rub my chin. "There's no easy way to say this but Mr. Texas is signing with the Gators."

Dallas looks unimpressed. "So? I figured he would. I was part of the recruiting team, and I know that kid didn't have a better time at any other campus than this one."

"Maybe you showed him too good of a time," I reply. "Thing is that Coach Simmons has it in his head that Mr. Texas is going to start."

Dallas laughs at this. Just flat out opens his mouth and guffaws, long and loud until he realizes I'm not smiling at all. "What the fuck, Moon?"

"He'd like you to move to safety."

"You're serious?" Dallas stares at me with wide-eyed incredulity.

"I would never joke about shit like this."

The look on Dallas' face? I don't ever want to see that kind of devastation again. He stumbles, and we both pretend I don't see that. Steadying himself with one hand on a nearby weight rack, Dallas manages to choke out, "How do you know this? Is it out yet?"

Meaning does anyone outside of our organization know about it. Are the blogs on it? Is it on Twitter? Is he going to start getting phone calls and emails asking him how he feels about being replaced? My throat tightens up in sympathy.

"Coach Simmons told me, and no, it's not out." The news cycle is focused on the playoffs for the pros. Super Bowl talk is heating up, and our college championship is yesterday's news. Right now, that's a really good thing. We do not need to be in the spotlight while we're working through this issue.

"How far away is Signing Day?" Dallas finally asks.

"Four weeks or so." Four weeks until all the high school seniors have to declare what school they're attending.

Dallas straightens. "So I have around thirty days to convince Coach Simmons that I deserve to start next year. He wants four years out of this freshman, then he can redshirt him." He slaps his wet, sweaty towel in my chest and storms out. I take the towel to the laundry return chute and resume my routine. Hopefully Coach realizes that this thing needs to be worked out with Dallas before the rest of the team gets involved.

I don't get more than two reps of my deadlifts in when Dez bursts through the door.

"Look at this!" He waves his phone excitedly.

"I can't see a damn thing unless you stop swinging your arm," I growl and reach up to rip the phone from his hand, but Dez is my size. Plus, I'm sitting, so I have no leverage. He holds the phone out of my reach.

"I see you woke up on the asshole side of your bed."

No. I woke up on the good side of my bed with the taste of a dream Ally still in my mouth. I woke up pretty damn happy with a sizeable morning chub that I rubbed out in the shower before I came here. None of which I tell Dez. "Just give me the damn phone," I growl.

"You're going to have to buy me dinner tonight to make up for your bad attitude." He hands me the phone.

I ignore him and try to zoom in on the image, which appears to be a tall, brown-haired guy standing next to a girl with brunette hair. For a second, I wonder if that's Ally, followed quickly by the desire to rip the guy's arm away, or even off his body if he doesn't step aside. I give myself a mental head slap for that kind of stupidity and zoom in, but I can't make out a thing. "Did you take this picture with your phone or a potato?"

"Ah, shit." He takes the phone back. "It's dark in there, and I could hear people coming."

"And 'there' is..." I gesture for him to fill in the blank.

He shoves the phone into his pocket. "Dallas has two photos in his locker. One is with his parents, but the other is Dallas and this girl."

"Dallas has a girl?" Dallas isn't known for taking up every available jersey chaser's offer, but he doesn't spend many nights alone. Although during last year's season, it was a pretty open secret that he was banging Coach's daughter.

"He must, right? Because you don't hang a picture of a slam piece in your locker. That's serious girlfriend and wives shit."

"Okay, but what does Dallas having a girlfriend have to do with anything? Given that you didn't recognize her, she's his girlfriend from high school or goes to some other college. Is she coming here and going bunny-killing crazy when she finds out that Dallas is being..." I pause to choose some other word that means demoted. "...moved to safety."

Dez waves his finger in my face. "I never said I didn't recognize her. This girl goes to UF. I've seen her. I think she works at a restaurant. Or a bakery or something like that. I remember her and coffee, which is why you wouldn't know her, what with your dislike of the nectar of the gods."

"You're essentially drinking the sweat of coffee beans, so no thanks." Why can't people get their caffeine fix from Red Bull and/or pop?

The pieces finally add up for me. Well, not all of the pieces, but Dez must think we should cozy up to this girl and enlist her help in convincing Dallas that quarterback isn't his natural position.

"I'm telling you for the thousandth time, it's not sweat," Dez insists.

"The beans are ground up, soaked in heated water, and then you drink the bean-flavored moisture. That's sweat of the bean, dude."

Dez looks frustrated. "The way you talk about coffee is not natural. You know what else is not natural?" I bend over to pick up the weighted barbell and resume my deadlifts, but Dez continues anyway. "Going two weeks without sex. You're going to forget what pussy feels like, and that would be a fucking tragedy. Unless you want to switch teams, I'd be okay with that."

"The tragedy is that you're both keeping track of my sex life and writing for that women's magazine. Yet here you are, two articles in and the world still hasn't stopped spinning." Last year Dez got it into his head that he should be an advice columnist, offering his shady advice about males to women. He submitted a couple of articles and they were published online.

"I was doing research for my next article. It's on Tantric sex. You heard of that?" He also has the attention span of a gnat.

"No. Regular sex is good for me."

Dez continues as if I haven't said a word. "According to these Tantric sex gurus, you can make a girl come just by breathing on her."

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. "Breathing? I don't think any woman is having an orgasm even if I gusted tornado winds into her pussy."

"Not with that attitude you won't."

I can't tell if he's joking or not. Ever since he's started writing for Monologue, he's reached new levels of strangeness. I blame it on the so-called research he's doing for these articles.

"Look, Tantric sex is all about being in tune with your partner. First you clear away all the distractions. Turn off your phones, computers, televisions. Then you sit her on your lap, legs around your waist." Dez demonstrates the leg position in the mirror. I huff through two more lifts as he continues. "You stare at each other and every time she breathes, she's supposed to rock against you. Pretty soon, you're matching your breathing to hers." My mind begins to match Dez's words with images of Ally and me in my bedroom. Her long, sexy legs draped on either side of my hips, rocking her wet pussy against-

I drop the barbell with a clatter. "Will you shut up? I can't lift 500 pounds with a hard-on."

Dez smirks. "Can't have an orgasm by just breathing, huh?" I give him a one-fingered salute. "See, this is proof you need to have sex. That's why you're in college, dude. That's why we play football. For the Grade-A pussy. And well, the usual dick for me."

I sigh. "Can we get back to the chick in Dallas' locker? Do you know her?"

Dez is relieved to get away from the terror of dating and immediately answers. "She's brunette with some blonde highlights and hot. Do I need to know anything more about her?"'

"That's all you got?"

"Her name is Ally."

I spin toward him, my mouth falling open. "What?"

It can't be. I toss my towel into the bin and sprint out of the weight room. There's a small group in the locker room but not enough to deter me. I arrow my way to Dallas' locker and shove his jersey aside. Sure enough, taped onto the back of his locker is a picture of Ally, her arm thrown around Dallas' waist, looking into the camera and smiling as if she's just had a good laugh. And Dallas is gazing down at her like she just told him he's going to play in the NFL.

Oh, this is so fucked up on so many levels I can't even begin to count them.

* * *

Word of Dallas' situation spreads throughout the team like a nasty virus. Dallas didn't keep his voice down when he confronted Coach Simmons, and by noon, everyone knew the general gist of the problem because locker room gossip moves fast. The assistant coaches were dispatched to make sure each player understood that if one word leaked from this locker room about the quarterback situation, that player's scholarship would be immediately pulled-no football, no college education, just a boot in the ass kicking you as far away from the Gators as possible.

No assistant came to me. No, I received a special ass kicking from Coach Simmons for not handling my part of the deal with any kind of finesse.

"This is a surgical procedure, not a goddamned hatchet job," he bellowed as he stood over me. Coach made sure that I was sitting so when his saliva-covered words rained out of his mouth, my head was in a good position to catch it all. He spent a good thirty minutes ranting on how inept I was and how I'd get the captaincy as soon as his ass turned green.

I bit back some stupid comeback about how his diet wouldn't affect my play on the field, and just bent over and took whatever he had to give me. He's my coach, after all. His word is law, and his verbal beat downs are the kind where you just lie down in an awkward position and hope he maybe feels weird as he fucks you.

After he wound down, he sent me out to reinforce the message from the assistant coaches-alone. No Dez, Jace, Trent. By myself, I tracked down and talked to every defensive player, all thirty-eight of them, even the walk-ons. It takes me five hours.

By the time I arrive home, I'm exhausted and pissed off and not in any kind of mood for Dez to be sitting in my room. It used to be that I could go to Jace's apartment, he has a single at the top of the house, but now that he's in a pretty serious relationship, Trish's up there and the door is always locked because they're fucking.

There's no damn privacy in this house.

"What's up?" I ask curtly, throwing myself into my desk chair.

"You need a beer." He tosses me one.

I don't break down at the sight of the cold booze, but it's a close call. I twist open the cap and drain half the bottle. "Shit, that tastes good."

"Where were you? We've been looking all over for you."

I give him a "you're shitting me" look. "Coach had me go to every defensive player to remind them to keep their yaps shut over this. Remember?" I spoke to Dez first because he was loitering in the locker room waiting for me.

"You just got back?"

I nod and take another long draught. "Caught one dumbshit posting to a message board pretending to be an anonymous booster."

"Ah hell. What did you do?"

"I told him that even when he isn't on the field, he's still a Gator and a member of the team. We wouldn't be on the opposing team sidelines telling them all our secrets during the game and we don't after, either."

Dez pauses with his beer at his lips. "Shit, man, that's good."

"I also told him that if he screwed up again, we'd make him run suicides nude in the quad until he puked."

"An appeal to his emotional connection to the team followed up with a threat of public humiliation. I like it." Dez tips his bottle toward mine. "While you were out doing Coach's dirty work, Trent, Jace and I compiled this."

He hands me a folder. "More stuff on Mr. Texas?" I ask. I set down my bottle and flip open the folder. It contains a class schedule, a work schedule, and a couple notebook sheets with meticulously printed information.

"It's everything you need to know about Ally Dawson. She works at Starbucks, takes sixteen hours, is a junior Public Policy major who enjoys spending her free time doing something called mock trial. She lives with two other girls, both babes, and weirdly has had no serious boyfriends since she's been at UF." Dez reels off Ally's autobiography like he's a narrator on the History Channel. "Elliot said she broke up with her high school boyfriend before parents' week her freshman year and that she's had a series of hookups, mostly with a few fraternity guys her roommate Piper introduced her to, along with some classmates. There's a list in there." He nods his head toward the folder.

The last piece of paper is a sticky with seven lines on it, which must be names, but I can't really decipher Elliot's handwriting. I carefully shut the folder so I don't give in to the urge to rip the yellow sticky into tiny pieces.

"How does Elliot know her?" I try to school my voice into being as disinterested as possible.

Dez spreads his hands in disbelief, the beer bottle dangling precariously between his index and middle finger. "He says Dallas and her are friends. Childhood buddies. Couldn't believe it because she's hot and there's no way you can be friends with someone that hot, even if you're Dallas, right?"

I nod because Dez's speaking the truth. There's no way I could only be friends with Ally.

"So he just barfed up this information to you?"

"Not exactly. His girlfriend was there when I asked about the picture in Dallas' locker. She kind of told me everything. Elliot just wrote it down."

I toss the folder onto the desk, feeling guilty and a little dirty for knowing this stuff about Ally. I don't even ask where they got the other information. There's always someone around who's willing to bend the rules when a Gator's in the equation.


	6. Chapter 6

Ally

By Tuesday, I'm a jittery mess. The sad fact is that I can't get Austin Moon out of my head. He's dominating my thoughts when I should be focusing on mock trial and figuring out just how I'm going to fix our terrible team dynamic.

Over the weekend, I created a few instructional sheets for Elle; a list of courtroom procedures along with a detailed list of the objections she could make. She only needs to make a couple for the judges to give her a good score. Tonight I'm going to work on crafting a tight direct examination.

She may not want them, but I'm doing this stuff anyway.

But mock trial doesn't hold my interest long enough, and Austin creeps in again. I know I'm right about him, he's bad news for me. He might be the sweetest guy in the world for the right girl, but I'm not her. My mom might be easily turned by a pretty head, but I'm not, no matter how powerful Austin's sex appeal. He's like an Exxon Mobile disaster, spilling his pheromones all over the ocean of female good intentions.

Good sex is not a reason to date anyone. To have a hookup? Yes. To date? No.

 _So just have a hookup_ , an inner voice suggests.

Because good sex leads to wanting more, and the one vibe I don't get from Austin is that he's a second- and third-round sort of guy. There are too many checks in the risk column and too few in the reward column.

As I'm putting on my coat, the worst thought occurs to me. What if he spots me going to Dallas' house and thinks I'm stalking him? Hurriedly I grab Piper's wool pea coat and tug a black cap over my head, hoping that it's enough to render me unrecognizable.

In the few times I've been to Dallas', I've never seen Austin, but today would be the day for that, wouldn't it? I can just see him saying, "Hey, Alls"-and of course it would be 'Alls' because my two syllable name is one too many for Austin-"Hey, Ally, I didn't realize you wanted my address instead of my phone number. But come on inside, my dick's ready for you."

Actually, my sex-deprived brain added that tidbit. He probably wouldn't say that to me-emphasis on the probably.

All my worry is for nothing because by the time I get to the Playground, there's no sign of him. The front door to Dallas's house is open, so I just walk in. Fortunately, only Gavin and Elliot are sitting in the living room.

Gavin flashes a worried look in Elliot's direction but Elliot waves his hand. "It's just Ally. She doesn't care, do you, Ally?"

"Nope."

Apparently Dallas has a girl in his room. I check my watch. It's three in the afternoon. I swear to God that Dallas can't go one twelve-hour period without having sex. Because the guys all watch each other's back religiously, if I was dating Dallas I wouldn't be allowed upstairs until he was done with his current fling, Tilly Thompson.

Only it's not Tilly standing in the doorway of Dallas' bedroom. It's a thin, busty blonde wearing the traditional gear of all winter Midwestern sorority girls: tight yoga pants, Ugg boots, and a pretty coat with an infinity scarf. Maybe the two were practicing yoga poses in there, although that wouldn't explain why his tongue is currently exploring the back of her throat for what I presume to be tonsillitis.

"Ahem," I clear my throat. Dallas' head rises lazily to look in my direction while his companion makes a throaty sound of disappointment. "Should I wait downstairs?"

I wonder if they had sex on the couch and whether I can find a clean pair of sheets in this place. One of the perks of living in the Playground, a set of eight houses bought by a booster to house the starters, is the laundry and cleaning services. It's a good thing, because otherwise this place would smell like balls and sperm.

The first time I came here some guy was casually fondling himself on the couch. There are more women in and out of the bedrooms, bathrooms, and game rooms than go through the MAC counter at Macy's on Black Friday. Less than half the guys on the team have girlfriends, and even the ones who are in relationships have a loose idea of fidelity.

If I wasn't friends with Dallas for so long, if he wasn't like a brother to me, I'd probably have a hard time hanging out with them. As it is, I shut one eye to their indiscretions and remind myself that as long as I'm not the one putting my heart on the line, the team is full of good guys.

When I arrived on campus as a freshman, Dallas and his buddies-already moved in from summer camp were there to carry everything from my dad's truck up three flights to my dorm room. Three weeks later when my high school boyfriend of four years decided we'd never make a long-distance thing work, they took me out, filled me full of vodka and orange juice (and made sure I didn't end up in a coma), and proceeded to tell me how pretty I was and how worthless the shithead was. Dallas and his merry band of linemen, wide receivers, and running backs are sweethearts as long as you don't fall in love with any of them.

Dallas is giving me a high-def example of why Austin is a bad risk. I take him on and I'll be just one girl out of a long line of girls who have crushed over a Gator only to have her feelings hurt.

Plus, the guy hasn't shown his face at Starbucks since last Thursday. He knows I work there and showed up two days in a row, but after Crowerly's it's been radio silence. If he thought me being a vegan was bad, which I'm not, just wait until he gets a load of my mommy issues. Again, the pretty boys are flight risks. They, like my mother, don't stick around when the going gets tough.

It just goes to show that football players will say anything to get laid. All that stuff about how much fun it was for him to have to try so hard with a girl, making me think he was actually serious about putting in the work to win me over? Ha! Maybe Austin did his own risk assessment and decided I wasn't a big enough reward.

Not that I care. I want him to quit pursuing me. Makes it a whole lot easier to put him out of my mind.

 _You've spent all day thinking about him, dummy. He is on your mind!_

Fine, that's true. But starting right now, I am not allowed to think about him anymore.

I lean against the wall and watch Dallas stroke the blonde's hair, no doubt telling her that he'll see her later even though if he did, he'd probably avoid her. She giggles and lifts her face for another kiss. Dallas plants one on her forehead, which isn't what she wanted, then he turns her toward the stairs and gives her a friendly pat on the ass.

She frowns when she sees me, so before she incorrectly assumes I'm here for sloppy seconds, I lie. "I'm his sister."

The girl's face brightens immediately but falls when Dallas interjects. "More like kissing cousins, really."

"Dallas was dropped on his head as a baby, so most of the time whatever comes out of his mouth doesn't make sense," I reassure his friend.

She flicks her gaze from Dallas to me, and from the way the lines around her mouth relax, I can see that she's categorized me as non-threatening. It could be because my hair is lying limply against my sweaty face. Damn, Piper's coat is hot. It could also be because I'm wearing ratty old jeans and a pair of boots that look like I'm headed for a construction site, but it's Dallas. I don't have to dress to impress him.

She gives me a patronizing smile and turns back to Dallas. ""I'll see you tonight at the Gas Station then?"

He raises a hand. "I'll be there."

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes at his noncommittal way of seeing her off. It's enough for the girl because she blows him a kiss and trips lightly down the stairs.

"Not even going to walk her to the door?" I ask as I brush by him into the room.

"That implies I invited her here, which I didn't. She showed up, took her clothes off, and told me she felt like celebrating with a winner today because she'd gotten some good news. I had some time to kill before we went out tonight."

Okay then.

It smells like sex, but his bed is perfectly made. I remind myself to put a blanket on the sofa if I decide to sit on it. I stride over to the windows and throw one open. Dallas chuckles but lights a stick of incense.

"Thanks for letting me crash here tonight." I set my backpack next to the bed and gingerly climb onto the side.

"It's no problem. So your place is getting exterminated?" Dallas throws himself into the corner of the sofa.

"The girls down in 1C convinced management that we had a bug infestation and that they'd sue if something wasn't done. Then they went around and got a bunch of the residents to sign some anti-bug petition."

Dallas squints.

"You like this star quarterback business." Even in high school, Dallas' stint as quarterback was overshadowed by a star running back. He came here without much hope of ever starting, but injuries opened up a space for him last year. He made the most of it, and I'm thrilled for him.

"It's the bomb, Dawson. All the chicks I want. Everyone bends over backward to give me a pass. Even my professors give me a high five and the TAs suggest that I can take it easy. It's nothing like high school, that's for sure." He stretches his legs out and folds his arms behind his head. His smug look reminds me again of what he was doing before I arrived. Or should I say as I was arriving?

Which reminds me, "Am I going to need a set of sheets for the sofa?"

"Take the bed. We didn't make it to the bed." His words hold about as much emotion as a stone. Poor girl. As if to emphasize his disinterest in the topic of their hookup, he flicks on Family Feud. Steve Harvey asks what the top five answers are for the question "something people do when they are tired."

"Drink caffeine," I guess.

"Take a nap," is Dallas' answer, then he asks off-handedly, "Want to come to the Gas Station with us tonight?"

"No." I kick my backpack. "I'm working on some things for the mock trial team."

"I can go and beat her up," he suggests.

"You really can't because I'm sure that would be grounds for suspension. I can see the headlines now. 'National Championship quarterback arrested for assault and battery.'" But I'm touched by his instant defense.

Dallas' tips his head back and drains his bottle. He has the next one open and poured down his throat before he responds. "Better than 'former National Championship player demoted in favor of true freshman recruit,'" he says bitterly.

I blink in surprise at his quick change in mood. A moment ago, he was complacent and self-satisfied and now he's pissed off? What'd I miss? "What are you talking about?"

His face darkens. He finishes the second bottle and opens a third. "Nothing. It's nothing."

In this mood, he's not going to share anything unless he's ready, so I try changing the subject, but he beats me to it.

"You see Austin Moon again?" Dallas' tone is nonchalant, but I don't miss the slight edge to it.

"No. Why?"

He shrugs, not taking his eyes off the game show. "Just wondering if he's still bothering you."

"He was never bothering me to begin with. I told you, he was nice." This new topic is just as bad as the old one.

"And I told you, he's a dog. You're not in the locker room, Ally. They're all dogs. Or maybe they wish they were, because if they could lick their own balls like a dog, they'd never leave their rooms."

Austin Moon is a foot taller than me, ripped like a stone statue, and big enough to break me in half. I nearly swallow my tongue at the image of the big guy bent over, sucking his own dick because that is kind of hot. Wisely, I don't share this thought with Dallas.

"Guys like Moon spend hours on Instagram before away games, looking up sorority pictures or local 'talent,' as they call it. Then they private message these girls and set up hookup dates. On every single away game," he stresses.

Okay, that is skeevy and gross when Dallas puts it that way, but something impels me to pony up yet another defense of Austin. "They're young and single, right? And as long as they aren't hurting anyone, then it's none of my business."

"Dez, Moon's best friend, nearly sat a game last year because he'd been injured by his girlfriend. He went to an away game, hooked up with a dude. His girlfriend drove up to surprise him."

I grimace. "I can guess what happens next."

"Not really. He convinces his side piece to hide in his gym bag. Girlfriend comes in, starts making out with Dez, his dick still wet from his previous go around." I hate it when Dallas gets like this, but I started it, so I have to sit back and let whatever is bugging him eat its way out of his system. "But it's hot in the gym bag, so the side piece pops out and tries to leave. Almost makes it out before the girlfriend sees something move out of the periphery of her eye. The two get into a big fight. Dez gets bashed on the forehead with a lamp. That's Moon's best friend."

I don't point out that the story is about the best friend and not Austin but I get Dallas' point. Austin is exactly that expensive purse. I give up on offering up excuses for him and instead, pat myself on the back for relegating him to the bad for me column along with carbs and too much liquor.

"Speaking of girlfriends, what's going on with you and Tilly? I'd think she wouldn't be thrilled about the blonde in your bedroom."

"Eh." He shrugs carelessly. "Tilly's always unhappy about something. Why do you think she's sleeping with me?"

"I don't know. Because you like each other?"

He looks at me in disbelief.

"What?" I throw up my hands. "Why is that such a stupid statement?"

"Tilly and I hooked up because she lives to piss off her dad, has a weird fetish for quarterbacks, and knows she's not going to break my heart when she's done with me"-I open my mouth-"or vice versa," he finishes.

I snap my trap shut. Apparently they have an enemies-with-benefits arrangement. I mean...

"Can we just drop it? I want to talk about how you and Moon hooked up."

"I didn't hook up with him!" I protest but feel myself turn an alarming shade of red because last night I had a pretty dirty dream.

"Then why are you asking questions about him and defending him?"

I curl my hands into fists so I don't give in to my urge to slap Dallas silly. "You're the one who brought it up! I told you I hadn't seen him, and then you decided to tell me some awful story about two of your teammates. What's going on, Dallas?"

"I told you it was nothing," he says curtly. At my frown, he mumbles an apology and heaves himself to his feet. "I'm going to shower and get ready." He sniffs his shirt. "I stink. Pick out something for me to wear, will you?"

I guess we're done with Tilly and Austin. Tight-lipped, I do as he asks. There's no point in pressing him because he's not going to say anything until he's absolutely ready. I rummage through Dallas' things and find a clean pair of jeans and a royal blue long-sleeve T-shirt with a waffle texture. After tossing the clothes inside the bathroom, I unpack my things.

Dallas wanders out, dressed in the clothes I picked out, his wet, brown hair looking darker than usual.

He stops by the bed and traces the raised letters on the mock trial packet. "You don't even like football players. You once told me that dating a football player seemed about as exciting as dating a block of cheese."

"Are you still on this?" I rub my temples. I can feel a headache coming on. "I'm not going out with him and you're right. I find most football players to be boring. You all have tendency to talk about only one thing, which gets boring after a while." Except the two nights we talked, Austin didn't say one word about football. I was the one who brought it up. God, am I ever going to get him out of my mind? _Stop it_ , I order myself and refocus on Austin. "I love you, D. And I love all of your friends, but all you guys do when you get together is talk about the game. Different routes. Throwing down the seam. The seam? Really? Who thinks of these names? They're all so sexual."

"Guys think of them. That's why they're sexual. And if you think we're bad, you should watch some wrestling. They have moves like 'going out the back door' and 'rear naked choke hold' and the 'camel clutch.' 'Running up the seam' is innocent compared to all that shit. Besides, guys only have one thing on their mind." He points a finger at me. "Remember that."

I refrain from rolling my eyes. I've gotten this lecture from Dallas once a semester since he discovered sex. "What about food? Isn't food important?"

"Only in the context of getting more sex. Proteins to keep it up."

"Ewww. Can we not talk about dicks and hard-ons?" I shudder. I hit him with a pillow, which he wrests easily from my grasp. He might only be the quarterback but he's still damn strong.

He abruptly, and wisely, moves on to a different topic. "Are you sure you don't want me to say something to that Elle chick?"

"And say what?"

He pats me on the head. "Dunno. Stop making my best friend's life miserable. I know you aren't a fan of conflict."

I give him a hug and realize he's just looking out for me. "No, it's too late. We've already spent the money on the registration. Is everything in life so expensive?"

Dallas doesn't have an answer because there is no answer. We both grew up in modest families. We are in that sweet spot where our parents make too much money for the really good grants, but not enough to pay for our schooling. Dallas has a full ride due to his arm and I've got a half-tuition scholarship, but neither of us has a lot of extra spending money.

"I don't think you should have given up your closing position to her," he tells me as he pockets his ID.

No money for Dallas. He doesn't need to buy a drink on this campus. Everyone else is happy to buy it for him.

"She's better at it than I am." Or at least that's what I believed after hearing her audition. I'm having second thoughts.

"Meh, you're smarter than her."

"You haven't even seen her in action." And smarter doesn't mean better. The debacle of my freshman year pretty much proves I suck at closing argument. "Besides, it was a condition of her joining the team. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the better of the team."

He snorts. "Making selfless sacrifices means you get left behind."

Classic Dallas. Always looking out for himself, but maybe I should take a page from his playbook. After all, my mock trial team can't make it out of Regionals and Dallas took his team to the National Championship game. "Well, on that depressing note, you should go or my inspirational closing argument that I'm writing for Heather will be full of negativity, and I doubt we'll win any points for that."

Gratefully Dallas accepts that. "Are we still up for the movie this Thursday?" he asks.

"What movie is that?"

"The Expendables 3."

I make a face. A bunch of aging action stars running around making jokes I don't get because I never watched the original movies to understand the references? No. "I close work on Thursday."

"Not to worry. Movie's over at four forty-five. Besides, you promised," he reminds me.

"I'm sure I was drunk."

"Drunk or sober, you said you'd go. I'll see you on Thursday at two p.m. sharp." Hand on the door, Dallas calls back. "Stay away from Moon. He's bad news."

"I don't have any reason to see him," I reassure Dallas.

* * *

Austin

"Son of a bitch!" The curse words greet me as I open the door to Gavin's pad. Gavin offered up a half-full bottle of whiskey when we ran out of booze at our place.

We rock, paper, scissored it and I lost, which is why I ran three houses down to fetch the liquor. The pleasant buzz I'd fostered at the Gas Station is wearing off, and that needs to be remedied as quickly as possible.

Gavin said the booze is in a cabinet next to the refrigerator and I make a beeline there.

"Honey, I'm home," I yell out just in case someone's having fun in the kitchen. In these houses, you never know. Being an athlete on a team that's expected to compete for the National title every year carries a lot of stress. Most of us forego heavy drinking during the season, which leaves us few options as an outlet for that pent-up stress. Sex is the easiest, and most fun, way to burn off that mental pressure.

I don't find anyone making out in the kitchen. Instead I find something better: Ally Dawson, complete with an apron tied around her waist. Her hair is tied up and with the apron on? She looks like a page from the fables my mom read to me when I was a kid. The brunette version of Goldilocks. Unfortunately, Goldilocks has had an accident and if she actually gets the butter out of the wrapper onto her fingers, it'll only make the burn worse.

My pants get tight as my dick tries to rise up and greet her. Why does she have to have long legs in addition to a nice rack? Why? I tell my traitorous equipment to settle down as I stalk over to the kitchen sink.

She spins around, her lips forming a perfect "O" of surprise. "Austin!" she sputters, and I try not to laugh. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to grab booze." I twist the faucet. With the cold water on blast, I beckon for Ally to come closer.

"I thought you were supposed to put butter on burns," she says warily.

"Old wives' tale." I tug her over to the sink and plunge her fingers under the water.

She flinches at the shock of the cold, and I briskly run my fingers over hers in an effort to warm her up a little. Or at least my intention is to be brisk, but the minute I make contact with her, my touch slows down.

Her fingers are slender, elegant. The middle finger has a slight callus as if her pen or pencil has been pressed there one too many times. I rub the tip of my finger over it once and then again. I have my own calluses from lifting, from slapping the tackling dummy a hundred times on the right, and then a hundred times on the left and repeat. My calluses say my hands are my weapons. Her callus shows her skill is with the pen.

She doesn't make a sound. Not a complaint that the water is too cold or that I'm standing too close to her. Our faces are only inches apart. If I leaned just to my right, I could rub my cheek against hers, like a big cat seeking a scratch behind his ears-among other places.

I try to focus on the water, but I don't see it. All I can focus on is her hand in mine. All I can hear is how her breathing has changed. How it catches and releases faster than is normal.

I rub her fingers again, slower still. My finger traces the curves between each digit. I fall down the tiny valley and climb up to the tip only to take the same exhilarating trip all over again. The cushion of her palm makes me imagine other tender, plump places on her body.

I turn my head and her eyes lock onto mine. Her lips are parted slightly and she stares at me with disbelief. I can't believe it either.

"How do you feel?" My voice comes out hoarse. Jesus, I'm rock hard just from touching her fingers. Under cold water.

"Since you're giving my fingers an ice bath, I don't actually have feeling in them," she lies through her teeth and deliberately breaks our connection. Pulling her hand out of mine, she lifts her fingers to inspect the damage.

"Then they aren't burning," I say rather unsympathetically because I'm exasperated at how she keeps denying this thing between us. I push her fingers back under the water. I leave her to stand at the sink while I pick up the now cooled cookie sheet.

"I can do that," she protests as I kneel down and hand sweep the dead cookie remains into a pile.

"I've no doubt that you can, but surprise, so can I." _And this way I'm not staring at the way your nipples are poking against the Harry Potter T-shirt you call a nightgown or the fact you have man socks slouched around your ankles._ I am, stupidly, bothered by that fact. It looks intimate and wrong-mostly because they aren't my socks. I bet they're Dallas'.

"If you're looking for Dallas and the guys, they're at the Gas Station tonight," she informs me, as if she can read my mind.

"I know. I was just there. I told you, I came to get some booze." She frowns at the curtness of my voice. And frankly I don't know why I'm pissy. Or, more accurately, I don't want to acknowledge why my buzz has burned off and I'm stomping around like a kid who had a toy taken away from him. What I do know is that I want her. Desperately. I want to kiss her and touch her and fuck her and- "Dust bin?" I force myself to ask.

"I don't think they have one."

"Right." Because the cleaning fairies come once a week. I drag the trashcan closer to the cookies and scoop up the mess as best I can. Behind me, Ally makes a frustrated noise. I check my watch. "You're probably good to go now."

"Thank God. I'm turning into Elsa here." She wipes her hands on a towel. Her voice is unaffected, but her legs are shaky as she strolls over to a cabinet next to the refrigerator and pulls down a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels. At least I'm not the only one affected by this. That would suck. "This what you are looking for?"

I start to take the bottle, but I realize if I do take it, I'm done here. And I'm not ready to be done. Not by a long shot. I'm not sure what her hold up is, but I'm starting to think it might be Dallas.

There's a pile of baked cookies on the counter near the fridge. My stomach rumbles at the sight of them. "What do I have to do to get one of those?" I gesture behind her.

She turns to look at the cookies. "Feel free to have one, or ten."

My hand pauses over the pile. I can't help myself from running my eyes over her again. She's nicely rounded all over. Hips, tits, face. I like it all. It's as if I shook a bag with all my preferences and out she fell.

"Go sit down and I'll bring you a plate. Want milk?"

"Does Elmo like to be tickled?" I grab a chair and watch her bustle around making me a plate of cookies and milk.

"I actually don't know if he does. What if he hates being tickled but everyone does it anyway just to hear him laugh?"

"But he does laugh," I point out.

"Sure, but it could be a nervous reaction. Like someone laughing at a funeral when they're actually super sad."

"You're ruining my childhood with your theories," I say with mock sternness.

She presses her lips together to keep from laughing. "I didn't take you for an Elmo lover." The plate of cookies slides into view.

"Are you insulting my manhood now?" I pick up one of the cookies and take a bite. It's... pretty good. I tell her so. "You can bake cookies too? Where have you been most of my life?"

"Preparing coffee, the one drink that you hate," she declares and takes a seat next to me.

I fake a shocked gasp. "You're sitting down? At the same table as me? The guy who's too risky to go out with?"

She flushes. "I was just..."

"Just what? Being polite?" I arch a brow. "Being a good hostess?" A smile tugs free. "Just admit it, you like me. You like talking to me, and you like being around me."

She sighs.

"I promise I'll keep your secret, don't worry."

I polish off the remainder of the cookies and milk and lean back, shoving the Jack Daniels behind me. I'm in no hurry to go anywhere.

"So why are you playing hostess?" I ask curiously. "And how come you're here by yourself?" She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand. "Wait, let me guess. I'm going to assume that you're here because your roommate is celebrating her six-week anniversary with her new dude. You needed a place to crash and wandered around campus until you found this house. Knowing the guys, the door was unlocked and you thought that with all the empty rooms and beds, this must be a campus-designated safe place for young, temporarily homeless women such as yourself."

She grins, almost in spite of herself. "And why am I not in bed?"

"Because, like Goldilocks, you couldn't find a bed that was comfortable enough. Hint, you're in the wrong house."

"My apartment complex is being exterminated for supposed cockroaches. Dallas said I could crash in his room."

 _Hmmm._

"What's that noise mean?" she nudges my foot with her socked toe.

"So you're Dallas'..." I let the answer question hang between us, willing her to fill in the blanks.

"Friend," she finishes.

That doesn't sound right to me. Actually, it sounds perfect to me, but I don't think I trust my judgment. She's here, alone in his house, wearing pajamas, and what I believe to be his socks. I've had girls steal my T-shirts, try on my jerseys, but never my socks. That's real intimacy. My skepticism weights the silence that hangs between us.

She huffs, "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who believes girls and guys can't be friends."

"'Course not," I lie.

One delicate eyebrow arches in disbelief. "We are friends. We met in the nurse's office in the third grade."

"Why haven't you dated him? I mean, I'm a guy but I'm confident enough in my masculinity to say that Dallas is attractive. Plus, he's the quarterback, and I understand from girls that the position automatically adds a couple points to his tally."

"So what? I mean, there are dozens of good-looking guys around here, but I'm not interested in dating them. Are you interested in dating every attractive girl you see?"

"No," I answer truthfully. Dating doesn't interest me. Sleeping with them? At least once? I might be down with that. "I asked you out, though. If you turned me down because you're after Dallas, I get it."

I don't like it, but then I don't _have_ to like it.

"We're friends. I saw him eat a worm once." She shudders. "It was gross. You can't ever date a guy you see eating invertebrates."

"Okay." I pause thoughtfully. "So if Dallas isn't in the picture, I guess this brings us back to your unfounded belief that I'm a 'risk.'" I air-quote the word, and her brown eyes flicker with resignation.

"You think I'm nuts," she says. "I get it. I know I can be anal about-"

I snicker. Yeah. I'm thirteen, apparently.

Ally looks like she's fighting laughter. "Seriously? You can't hear the word anal without-"

Another snicker. Goddamn it. I'm usually a lot smoother than this.

"Fine, I give up. I'm not saying it again."

I drag my mind out of the gutter and fix her with a serious gaze. "Anyway, about this risk thing. You know what I think?"

"No, but I bet I'm going to in the next five seconds."

She sounds resigned, but the fact that she's still here, talking to me, feeding me? It all gives me encouragement. "Prepare to be enlightened. I feel like you haven't given me a proper risk analysis. Maybe you weighted things incorrectly or haven't accurately identified all the benefits. If you're going to turn me down in the face of our clear attraction to each other, I deserve to see the assessment."

"Hmm, let me think." She taps her cheek with one finger. "And no."

"I know you've got "football player" in the con column, but do you have increased stamina, ability to hold you up with one arm so my other hand is free to do lots of things like-"

"No." She nudges me warningly with her sock-covered foot to tell me I shouldn't finish my example. I really hate that sock.

I grab her foot and pull it into my lap. "Let's do a risk/reward test."

"Let's not." But her foot doesn't move.

I massage her foot beneath the sock, pressing hard against the ball and then digging into the arch. She releases a tiny moan, and her head falls back in a dick-hardening sexy motion. _Fuuuuck._ If this is how I feel from just touching this girl's hand and foot, what would it be like to be between her legs, to suck on her tits, to feel her pussy pulse around my dick? Light-headed and incredibly aroused, I almost fall off the chair.

I gotta focus here. If I'm ever going to get past the foot and hand, I need to convince her that the reward with me would be off-the-charts amazing.

Clearing my throat, I keep rubbing her foot. "Having your foot in my lap, that's a risk, right? But you're enjoying the rubdown. That's a risk worth the reward."

"Keep rubbing and stop talking," she orders. Her eyes are closed.

Okay, but I'm not touching some other guy's sock, particularly the guy whose bed she's sleeping in. I don't know if I fully buy into her "just friends" explanation for Dallas. He has her picture in his locker. She's wearing his socks. For all that, he's at the Gas Station dry-humping a Kappa and Ally's home alone. I pull off the sock and toss it aside and stare at her toes.

"Your nail polish is blue." Since when did I think toes were sexy?

She wriggles them. "Yes, on both feet. You're very observant. Haven't you ever seen a girl's toes before?"

"I'm sure I have." I just don't remember them. I have this strange feeling I'll remember hers, though.

I run a light caress over the anklebone, down the spine of the Achilles tendon, and around the edge of her instep.

Her breathing hitches, so quiet and so soft, I might have imagined it.

"What're you doing?" Her words are a husky whisper, and my body responds accordingly.

My balls tighten, and my dick's so hard I'm worried it'll snap in half, but I can't reach into my jeans to readjust or I'll scare her away.

"We're testing your risk assessment." And driving myself crazy.

"You should stop."

"I can't." I move my hand up her ankle to cup the slender calf. "Feel good? Worth the risk?"

"I'm not sure."

That's an invitation if I ever heard one.

Is it possible to come from just rubbing a girl's leg? I might test out that theory. "And now?" My fingers find the tender hollow behind her knee. Her pulse beats rapidly against my palm. She's as turned on as I am and I haven't even gotten to the good parts.

"It feels riskier," she croaks.

 _Yeah, because pretty soon my hand is going to be on your thigh, and I don't know how I'm going to stop there._

Her fingers are turning white as she grips the sides of her chair. Is she holding herself back? Or keeping herself there?

Fuck, I want to kiss her so bad. I want to kiss her lips but I'd settle for her toes or her knee orshit, if all she'll allow is for me to touch the tips of her fingers, I'd be okay with that. I need a taste of her. I'm dying for a taste of her.

Desperately, I plead with her, "You sure you don't want to take a chance? I really don't take up that much time. I'm low-key, fairly undemanding. I'm the bargain purse. I have all the same hardware as the expensive purse, but I'm cheaper. I bring my own booze, remember?"

I don't know who moves first. Later she would say it was me. She could be right. I've been wanting to kiss her since I discovered her here. Since I saw her at the coffee house. Since maybe before we even met.

I dig my fingers into her hair and pull her onto my lap where her soft parts meet my hard, aching parts. Her hands grip my head and our tongues converge in a wet, hot collision.

She tastes as sweet as she looks. Like the most decadent baked good ever.

My poor dick is aching to feel her bare skin against it. I want to peel off her clothes until the heat of her warms my cold skin. I've been itching to mold her tits in my palms, lick the pulse point of her neck.

My mother could come in and ask me my name and I wouldn't have a response. I'm full of Ally. Her sweet taste, the heat of her touch, the vanilla smell from the cookies.

She wriggles, trying to find the hard spot to alleviate the ache between her legs. My hand drops down to find the smooth skin of her thigh, made bare where her pajamas has ridden up. I hitch her leg higher.

She sighs with relief and moans with pleasure when I press my weight against her. I nearly cry. It feels that good.

I want to both kiss her until the sun comes up and throw her down onto the first surface I can find. Fucking hell, man, who needs a flat surface?

I grip both her hips and drag her slowly across my dick. Her head slowly lolls back, exposing her smooth, beautiful throat. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, and the sharp pulls keep me from going over the edge, keep me from tearing off her kiddie pajama top and pulling down her silky shorts until she's completely naked.

I swear she's ready for me, that she's wet between her legs. Her feet hook into the ladder of the chair and she begins to ride me. I place a hand around her neck and pull her closer so that I can ravage that porcelain skin with my teeth and tongue.

I should be gentle. This is my first chance to show her the reward is worth any risk, but it's so damned hard.

She smells like the first burst of spring. The clippings from a genuine grass field. Real, honest... mine. I feel like I could just live off the taste of Ally alone. That she's all the sustenance I'll need, which both thrills me and scares the shit out of me at the same time.

It's a crazy, exhilarating feeling, and I seriously cannot get enough. I drag her mouth back to mine so I can drink straight from the fountain. Goddamn, this kiss is better than any sex I've ever had. Her mouth is hot and wet, and she kisses me back as if she's starving and I'm the first food she's seen in days.

She's voracious, and every need in her calls forth an answering desire in me. I want to give her anything, everything. I want to kiss her mouth until we're both too drugged up on each other to do anything but lie on the floor and count our breaths. I want to-

The door slams open. Noises burst into my eardrum. My name is called. Once, twice, a dozen times. I don't hear it but Ally does.

She shoves me away.

"I... I should go." And then she runs off. With my dick trying to punch his way out of my jeans and what sounds like the entire fucking team out in the hall, I can't really do much about it. I'm awkwardly rearranging myself so I don't look completely obscene when Dez strolls in.

"What the fuck was that?" Dez asks. "Isn't that Dallas' girl?"

I run a hand over my hair. My world's been tipped upside down with that kiss. "I don't know, Dez."


	7. Chapter 7

Ally

I collapse onto the safety of Dallas' bed. Lord, Austin Moon is potent. No, he's dangerous. I nearly burst into flames when those big, powerful hands were running over my foot. My legs. My sex. If we hadn't been interrupted... God, I would have had sex with him. Right there in Dallas' kitchen, where anyone could've walked in on us. That's how deep of a spell he had me under.

I rub my hot cheeks and try to ignore the even hotter feeling between my legs. I was grinding against him like I was trying out for a spot as a cam girl. I've never felt like that about a guy before. Maybe it's because I haven't had sex since last year. A year is a really long time to go without. I'm just experiencing a... sexual re-awakening. It's like when your limb falls asleep and when you wake it up, you're full of intense pain and buzzing until it wears off.

I just need for it to wear off. The next time I encounter Austin, I'll be prepared.

 _Next time?_ Oh, God, am I already anticipating a next time? How about never again? And shit, I promised Dallas to stay away from him. But I don't have to sleep with Austin. I could just... _what?_

Talk! That's what we'll do. We'll talk it out. Eat some food, have a drink, beer for him and a Coke for me, and we'll both laugh and realize that we're better off friends.

I try to force myself to sleep, but my mind whirls in circles. I need to stay away. _But I can't help myself._ But he's no good. _But he's funny! He makes me laugh and, fuck me, the size of the monster in his pants._ No! Do you not remember those Instagram photos? Do you really want to be the next member of the panty parade in Austin's bed? _But I'd have to be dead not to appreciate what a perfect specimen of masculinity he is. How I was on fire just from him touching my fricking ankle!_

And the circle goes around again. I toss and turn until Dallas' door slams open. I bolt up in bed wondering where the fire is only to sag back immediately when I see two shapes wrestle inside, half-laughing, half-trying to discover what the other person had for dinner.

I clear my throat as the two stumble and fall onto the sofa. "Ahem," I say a little louder.

Dallas peers over the blonde's shoulder and his eyes flicker in some dim remembrance.

"Oh, Ally. Forgot you were here." He's drunk so the words are slurred together, but I get the gist.

"I am here," I remind him.

"Can you just..." He spins his finger around in quick circle.

I gape. "For real? You just want me to cover my head and pretend you're not here?"

"No. We're going to pretend you're not here," the girl shoots back. I don't recognize this one. She's not the blonde from earlier, and she's not Tilly.

Dallas looks out at me glassy eyes. "You don't mind, do you?" His hand runs up the back of his companion, and she responds by rubbing her chest all over him.

I stare at the two of them in disbelief. He wants me to pretend he's not having sex on the couch? I take too long to respond because my inability to form words is taken as consent by the girl. She proceeds to noisily kiss Dallas' neck, sounding for all the world like a fish flopping around on a dock.

He must be so drunk he can't hear her or so horny he doesn't care. Maybe it's both.

"I do mind, actually."

"Don't be a cockblocker," the girl says, her mouth partially muffled against Dallas' neck.

"That would be cuntblocker," I correct impatiently. "You don't have a cock."

"Did you just call me a cunt, bitch?"

I turn to Dallas. "You know how to pick them."

"I'm not judging her IQ, just the quality of her snatch," he replies crudely.

And the girl? She doesn't even flinch. If anything I think her expression grows victorious.

"Nice, Dallas. Real nice."

"Ally, give us..." He looks down at the girl and back to me. "Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" His friend squawks. "I want to spend the night here."

"Right, I really don't do sleepovers," Dallas tells her and starts to rise.

"You have someone in your bed!" She points to me. Yet my presence, no matter what the reason, doesn't drive her off.

"It's just Ally. She doesn't matter."

I know he's drunk, but that was rude. And here I was feeling guilty that I'd kissed his teammate. After this, I should have the right to kiss the whole damn team! I climb out of bed, find my socks, and grab my backpack. Dallas reaches out to grasp my hand as I leave.

"Don't go. Just wait downstairs. I'll be a half hour. Hour tops."

"No, you won't." The girl takes Dallas' face between her hands. "I'm going to rock your world. You don't need her."

Without waiting for any response, she pulls Dallas' hand down between her legs and starts rocking. Oh. My. God. Dallas is really losing it. I hustle out of there before the contents of my dinner decorate their rapidly discarded clothes.

Outside Dallas' room, I slip on my socks and then glance back into the room. The two are going at it on the very sofa he screwed some other girl on just a few hours previously.

I run a hand through my hair. I don't know what's going on with Dallas. He's usually not like this. Yes, I know he has sex, and I know he has plenty of girls on campus after him, but I could have sworn he had real interest in Tilly last semester. Now he's acting like a manwhore without a conscience, and that's just not him.

Something is wrong with Dallas, but short of stalking in there and pulling the girl off of him, I can't really address it with him tonight. Or, I guess, it's morning. I pull out my phone to check the time. It's nearing two in the morning. I have a ten o'clock class. I'll deal with him tomorrow but for now? I just want a damn place to sleep.

If my apartment wasn't being fumigated and if breathing pesticides wouldn't kill me, I'd go home. But I'm stuck here. Somewhere in this place has to be a place for me to crash.

I trot downstairs and find the living room empty. It's not my first choice, and half the house is still out partying, which means I could fall asleep only to be woken up several times as Dallas' roommates straggle home, but I don't have many more options.

A couple of raised voices coming from the porch catch my attention. I quietly approach the front door to see who's arguing, only to jerk back like a character from a bad spy movie when I see Austin and Gavin.

Shit. I'm totally not prepared to deal with Austin so soon. The imprint of his body is fresh in my mind. I might still be a little drunk from his kiss. I need some time and distance to build up an immunity to him so I can see him and not want to tear off my clothes and his.

I peek through the sidelight. Whatever Austin is trying to sell, Gavin isn't buying. His arms are crossed and his jaw is set in a hard, unhappy line.

What did Dallas say this morning? _Better than former National Championship player demoted in favor of true freshman recruit._

Surely he wasn't referring to himself? Surely... I yank open the door and the two shut up the moment they see me.

"What are you doing here?" I accuse.

"I live here," Gavin says with a grin. It's a fake grin. There are worry lines around his eyes. The suspicious kernel that formed when I first saw the two arguing starts to take shape.

"This is about Dallas, isn't it?" When the two don't answer, I reach out and jab my finger into Gavin's chest. "Your quarterback is losing it. He's drunk, screwing random girls, and acting like a teenager with her first bout of PMS."

Gavin raises his hands. "I'm too drunk to deal with this right now." What a fricking lame-assed excuse. Gavin's as sober as a judge on Monday mornings. "Good night, Ally." He leans down and gives me a kiss on my temple. "Nice jammies."

I look down at my Harry Potter pajama top and matching shorts. "They are nice," I yell at his departing back. I turn my irritation on Austin. "What's wrong with my jammies?"

"Nothing's wrong with your pajamas, Alls, but I'm definitely not a fan of your socks. Where'd you get those?"

"What is your obsession with my socks?" I lift one foot up. "These are my dad's."

"Then your socks are fine." There's a banked heat in his eyes that makes it hard for me to meet them without blushing.

"Speaking of Dallas-"

"I wasn't actually speaking of Dallas," Austin interrupts. "I was speaking of us. You and I and how you're really heartbroken that we were interrupted before we could take a few more risks. Me, too." His voice thickens seductively. He steps forward, and I step backward, and he keeps coming until the door is closed behind him. "But we can patch our bruised hearts by seeing each other tomorrow night."

"I'm busy." I cross my arms, in part to ward off his charm and in part to keep from grabbing his shirt and whipping it over his head.

"Yes, studying, but you can't study all the time, and you aren't studying now." He pulls gently on my crossed arms, dragging me across the wood floor until there's hardly a breath between us. "How was the reward, Ally? And don't tell me it didn't exist because you'd be lying. I was there. I felt you. I swallowed your sexy little gasps, and I felt you grind-"

"Okay!" I throw my hand across his mouth. "I felt something. Something good." His eyes gleam in the night. He's like this big cat just waiting to devour me, and worse? I want to be devoured. "But it's late, and my head is muddled. I can't think or sleep."

I know I've just admitted to him that I can't stop thinking about him, that he's actually keeping me up at night, but the words tumble out of me. And once they're out, I have a certain sense of relief. The tension had been building and building, and it had to come out.

His whole face softens beneath my hand. He presses a small kiss into the palm and then pulls it gently away from his mouth.

Still holding my hand, he asks "Why aren't you in bed, Alls?"

"You know why." It's embarrassing. "Because Dallas brought a girl home."

His eyes search my face, looking for hurt, I suppose. I'm not hurt. I'm pissed off and tired.

"I think he forgot he said I could stay."

Austin's lips thin out in disapproval. "You can't sleep down here. Half the offense is still at the Gas Station."

"I know. I wasn't planning on getting much sleep."

His eyes dart to the sofa where I left my backpack. "You're coming with me." He releases me to go over and shoulder my backpack. He stops near the front door and eyes all the random coats hanging on hooks. "Where's your coat?"

"Upstairs. Why?" I ask with growing suspicion.

"I guess you don't need it." He throws out a hand. "Come on. Let's go."

"No." Oh no. I'm not going home with him and sleeping in his bed. I wasn't born yesterday.

"Now, Ally, despite all evidence to the contrary, I believe you're a standup woman. If you pinky swear to keep your hands to yourself and not take advantage of me, I'll believe you." He wiggles his pinky in my direction.

I can't even do the pinky swear because I don't know if I can keep my hands off him. After what happened in the kitchen, he'll be lucky to make it to his house unmolested. Spending a whole night with him by my side? He's going to need a chastity belt.

At my hesitation, he points upstairs. "Or you can go upstairs and enjoy Dallas' floor show."

I tell myself that I'm agreeing to go with him because it's the only good choice I have left.

"Fine." I grab one of the coats from the hall and shrug into it. But there's no way we're sharing a bed. Absolutely no way. "You'll be sleeping on the floor."

* * *

"Are you really making me sleep on the floor?" Austin lies on four yoga mats taped together while I'm ensconced in his cozy bed. His room is about the same size as Dallas' with a small refrigerator, a desk, and a chair situated by the window overlooking the back of the house and into the common area all the houses share. It's why they call this particular set of student housing the Playground. The guys party out there during the warmer weather and throw snowballs during the colder weather, or so Dallas tells me.

There's a door situated slightly behind the chair that leads to the bathroom. All the bedrooms have their own bathrooms. How nice for them.

Austin also has a nice large bed, larger than my twin, but instead of the sofa running across the far wall like in Dallas' bedroom, there are the yoga mats.

His bed smells nice, like citrus and... well, him. Of course, I like it, as I seem to like everything about him, and surreptitiously take another deep sniff. I'm going to have to buy an orange and rub it on Elle so that the smell starts having a negative connotation. Otherwise, I'm going to get excited at breakfast every morning.

 _Want any orange juice?_

 _No, ma'am. It makes me orgasm. Can't drink OJ in public now._

"Yes, I'm making you sleep on the floor. Why do you have the mats there anyway? If you had a sofa, you'd be able to sleep on that instead of the mats."

"Because I like to stretch. Good stretching equals fewer injuries. But these mats are meant for stretching, not sleeping."

"I know you don't have practice tomorrow and that you don't have practice for like three weeks, so I don't care." I stare at the ceiling so I can avoid looking toward Austin. He got undressed in his bathroom but came out wearing flannel sleep pants and no shirt. And those sleep pants are somewhere on the floor between us. He'd taken them off under the thin blanket covering him.

I almost swallowed my tongue at the sight of shirtless Austin, so I huddled under the covers, hands clenched together, exerting as much control as I can so I don't launch myself at him. "You're the reason I have to sleep here anyway. If you and the rest of the team hadn't made Dallas miserable, he wouldn't have come home with a woman and essentially kicked me out of my room."

"Why were you there again?" he asks.

I can hear the skepticism in his voice. It's so typically male of him to think the opposite sex can't be friends. Dallas and I've tried to explain it. Most of my female friends get it. Dallas' friends assume we slept together and when Dallas moved me into the friend zone, I continued to hang around hoping he'd realize what a prize I truly was.

"Because Dallas is my best friend. Has been since third grade. We met in the nurse's office. Dallas had childhood asthma, you know."

"No, I didn't know," he admits. "What were you in there for?"

"Got hit with a ball."

He moves again on the mats. It can't be comfortable down there. I can feel myself weakening.

"What if we sleep with the pillows between us like the Puritans did?" he suggests.

I can't help but laugh. He's got a one-track mind. "Did you take that class, too?"

"You bet your ass I did. Who knew the Puritans were so horny?"

"I don't think it was the Puritans who were horny. I think it was Professor Collinsworth." Professor Collinsworth is a tiny woman who looks like a raisin with white hair. Her class, Early American History, is all about sex and violence during the colonial period.

"When did you take that class? Were we in that class together?" There's more rustling, and I can't help myself from glancing in Austin's direction. I find him lying on his side, propped up by an elbow, his golden, perfectly formed chest highlighted by the moon.

"Yes, but not until last semester. I didn't know about it until my roommate Piper told me that it's a great filler class." A class to pad your GPA.

"Ahh, my student advisor signed me up for it second semester sophomore year."

"You have Public Safety with her."

"Describe her for me." His head falls onto his hand as if he's settling in for a nice, long chat. There's something irresistible about a man who wants to listen about nothing and everything. I mentally add that to the reward column, which keeps getting longer each moment I spend with him.

"She's about a foot shorter than you with blonde hair. Kind of has a '50s pinup style to her. Wears a lot of silver bracelets on both arms. Jingles like a Christmas tree. Very attractive."

Austin squints as if trying to picture her. "Not seeing it."

Neither of us seems interested in sleep. It's like the first night we were together, when all we wanted to do was talk. "If you slept with her, would you remember her?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" He shrugs. His shoulder roll actually highlights his muscles, lifting the pecs up into the light and then down into the shadows. "I haven't slept with that many women."

"So you could name them all?" The seemingly unending list of winners that popped up in the hashtag scroll by in my mind's eye. That bit weighs heavily in the risk column.

He sighs deeply. "Probably not. Does it matter, though? The women I've slept with have wanted the same thing. Simple, easy release. There's no shame in the hookup. Not for the girl or the guy as long as everyone's on the same page." He rolls onto his back, taking the peep show with him.

He has me there, and frankly, I don't want to know his list of past conquests. I don't know why I brought it up in the first place other than I need a reason to dislike him. I need to remind myself that he's a risk with a capital "R" because my defenses toward him are so weak right now.

I play my last defense card. "You're really not going to tell me what's going on with Dallas? What made you and Gavin argue earlier?"

"No."

He shifts again on the mats but doesn't invite himself into the bed, even though I'm pretty sure he wants to. He's not the only one.

Finally, I give in, because I'm weak and he's so damned attractive. "You can sleep on the bed with me, but I swear to you if you try to feel me up tonight, I will cut off your hand."

He's up and at the bed before I finish.

Grinning down at me, he says, "I kind of need my hands. Would you consider cutting off a finger? Or three? Because apparently you can still be a damned good linebacker with only a few fingers."

"Depends on the infraction." I move over to the far side of the bed. Austin climbs in beside me.

"I like you, Ally. And your insistence on labeling me as risky does not make me like you any less," he says cheerfully and tucks his hands under his pillow. His elbow lands close enough to my head that if I simply turned my cheek, I could kiss it.

I force myself to lie still.

"I don't know what that means," I tell him.

"It means I'm not done with you."

I frown. "You don't get to decide that."

"Nope. You can't stop me from liking you. It's just a thing. Like the sun rising and the tides coming in."

"You're bored, aren't you? You're an obsessive sort of guy, and without the object of your obsession, aka football, to distract you, you've latched on to me for some reason. Is that it?"

"If that argument makes you feel safer, go with it." The smile is still on his face. I can hear it in his voice. "The thing is, Alls, if you don't sleep with me now, it'll be this niggling regret you'll have all your life. You'll be thirty-five and on your wedding day-"

"I'm not getting married until thirty-five?"

"Hush. This is my story. Anyway, you're on your wedding day. The wedding march begins. The double doors open. At the end of the aisle stands some pasty-faced groom you settled on. In the back of your mind, you think, I wonder what Austin Moon was like in bed. And then you won't be able to walk down that aisle. You're haunted by this lack of knowledge. You turn on your heel and run. Ultimately you ruin this poor sap's life, make enemies out of his entire family, and spend a shitload of money you'll never get back because you didn't take up this opportunity when you had it."

"That's quite a line."

"It's the truth."

I roll over and try to forget I'm lying next to the first guy I've been attracted to in a long time. Austin has no such problem. His gentle snores fill the air minutes later. It's a long, frustrating night for me.

* * *

I dream the dirtiest dream that night. It consists of Austin's very large hands throwing the covers aside and then running themselves all over my body. I moan so loudly when his fingers delve between my legs, I wake myself up. Only to find him sleeping next to me like a baby.

I place my hand over my galloping heart and breathe a huge sigh of relief that I haven't woken him up and that I haven't done what I warned him against-middle-of-the-night creeping.

Austin's still sleeping and hasn't moved an inch since last night.

I give myself a few moments to gawk at him. He has a hard, hot body that apparently does not need any covers because the sheet and blanket are kicked down around his thighs, revealing an expanse of golden skin stretched over muscled shoulders, chest, and abs. _He's an athlete_ , I remind myself. They're all hardbodies. But as much as I tell myself he's not my type, I can't keep the lie in my head long enough to be convincing.

In my dreams, he was exactly my type. Probably my only type. I shudder and try to shake free of the vision of him touching me, kissing me.

His right arm is thrown across his forehead and his left rests across his abdomen. His fingertips are touching the waistband of his underwear and I'm helpless to stop my eyes from drifting downward where an impressive morning erection is barely held inside the stretchy fabric. My fingers itch to reach over and palm that bulge.

Holy hell, I feel lightheaded this morning.

I allow myself ten more seconds of ogling before I push myself upright, only to immediately fall down again.

The thump serves to rouse Austin from his sleep. He blinks, slowly, gradually gaining consciousness. I avert my eyes when his hand drifts lower to cup himself. He halts halfway there, as if suddenly remembering my presence in his bed.

He turns his head lazily toward me. "Hey."

"Good morning." I try to smile.

"Sorry about that." He gestures with his head toward his crotch. "Habit."

"No worries," I reply as if seeing a guy fondle himself is a regular occurrence in my life. "So I have to ask you a favor."

"Sure. What do you need?" He rolls over and props himself on one elbow.

"I need a glass of orange juice or milk."

"We have OJ for sure. Probably not milk though." He pats his firm stomach. "Growing boys and all."

My eyes linger there far too long to be polite. When I finally pull my gaze away from his ripped torso, I find him grinning at me. There's something devilish on the tip of his tongue.

He doesn't disappoint. "I'm pretty to look at, aren't I?"

"Yes, yes you are," I laugh with relief that he doesn't mind I was totally perving on him.

"You lie here and think about how awesome I am while I go and get your juice." He walks out, uncaring that he's still sporting a bit of wood in his shorts. I guess that's what it's really like to live in a house full of guys.

He returns in no time, bringing a plate of eggs, toast, a huge mound of bacon, a glass of orange juice, and a Gatorade.

"If the football thing doesn't pan out for you, you can go into cooking. Be a chef."

"What do you mean if this doesn't pan out? I'm a football god." He winks at me. "Small 'g.'"

I believe it. Despite the tiny number of college players moving on to the pros, UF has sent more players to the NFL than any other college in the country. It's why Dallas came here even though he knew he wasn't guaranteed a starting position.

"What about after football?"

"Well after my fifteen years of dominating at the inside linebacker position, I'll retire from the pros and focus my time on terrorizing my kid's friends."

"Two boys to follow in your football god-small 'g'-footsteps?"

"Nah. I want to have tea parties and a reason to dress up silly and post pictures on Instagram that will go viral and have everyone saying how awesome a dad I am."

"You were only gone a couple minutes," I say suspiciously. He drops the plate on the side of the bed and hauls me upward, slipping a pillow behind my back before taking a seat by my side. He hands me a glass.

"I stole it from Dez." He sweeps my hair out of my face as I sip on the orange juice.

"I'll be out of your hair in fifteen minutes, I know you're probably not used to breakfast in bed."

"There's no hurry." He drapes himself like a giant cat across the lower half of my body, reaches over for the plate and sets it between us. He watches me with studied casualness as I eat my eggs, occasionally stealing a slice of bacon while I gobble up the breakfast he stole from his roommate.

If this is the kind of treatment women get after a night with Austin, I can see why he's so popular.

"I can see by the sad face you're thinking of something not good, and I have to say that the rule of this bed includes no bad thoughts," he declares as he grabs his Gatorade and proceeds to drink a quarter of it.

"You have rules in bed?" I find myself fascinated with the movement of his Adam's apple. Even the act of him drinking is somehow sexy and strong. I give myself a mental slap. _Get it together, Alls. Oh Christ. Now I'm referring to myself with his nickname._

"Only one: everyone has a good time."

My mind gallops toward all the interesting pictures that a good time entails. His head between my legs. His hands cupping my breasts. His mouth moving everywhere.

"Those eggs must be really good," Austin observes.

"Why do you say that?" I ask as innocently as possible. Surely he couldn't tell what I was thinking about.

He grins. "You just moaned a little."

"I did not." Did I? If I did, I want to die. Really just want to crawl under the blankets and hope the earth swallows me up.

"Okay, maybe you didn't."

I assess him suspiciously but decide the best way forward is denial all the way. I have a feeling that if I reveal I'm in any way receptive to him, he'd have me on my back, clothes off, faster that I can say hut hut.

 _As if that's a bad thing_ , the evil creature in the back of my mind whines. I push her aside and finish eating my breakfast.

"You thinking about Dallas or whatever big thing you were sighing about the other night?" he asks.

 _Neither. I was thinking about you and your sexy body. Do you mind putting on a shirt?_ "Both topics violate your rules of the bed."

He heaves a big sigh. "See, I'm trying to ignore that you're nearly nude and that I would love to explore all that creamy skin, but I'm guessing that's off the table, so I'm trying to change the subject."

I try to remember why we aren't actually doing the things he's suggested, but then I remember my stupid risk assessment. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

Changing the subject is a superb idea. I clear my throat. "So do you have class today?"

He takes a deep breath and looks past my head out the window. "Yeah, I have Public Safety with your hot friend."

His reference to Piper as hot annoys the heck out of me. Mostly because there's no impediment to the two of them getting it on. And the thought of Austin feeding Piper breakfast in bed, despite Piper being one of my closest friends, makes me want to Hulk Smash this breakfast plate. "You think Piper is hot? I thought you didn't know her."

"You said she was hot. I'm just repeating your description. Although..." He pauses to take another sip of his Gatorade. "A girl's definition of hot is different than a guy's definition."

"Well, by all means, educate me." I fold my arms.

"Okay, but I'm going to be crude. Since we're besties now, though, I figure that's okay."

"How are we besties?"

"What? You have sleepovers with people who aren't your besties?" He slaps a theatrical hand over his bare chest, and my eyes unwillingly fall, again, on that beautiful piece of art.

"Austin..." I say warningly.

He grins into his bottle, not at all chastened. It would likely take a gaggle of nuns to get him to behave and maybe not even then.

"Hot is a word used to describe anything that gets our dicks hard. It could be red lips or a sliver of skin between the waistband of a girl's jeans and the top of her shirt. It could be, hell, smell. Hot's not the same as pretty or attractive or interesting or nice. It's just, fuck that makes me hard. Girls use it to describe guys they want to bang." He snaps his mouth shut as a thought occurs to him. By the naughty gleam in his eyes, I know exactly where his dirty mind went. "Does that mean you want to bang Piper? Because, Alls, I would be so down for that."

I roll my eyes. "That's a negative in the risk assessment."

"Ah, I was just kidding." At my raised eyebrow of disbelief, he clarifies, "Okay, I'll admit that seeing you with another girl would be hot. But the truth is seeing you in any kind of sexual situation would turn me on. I was at the Gas Station over the weekend. There are willing women every two inches, but I didn't find any of them hot even though, objectively, I'm sure other people would. It's not the other girl in that threesome fantasy. It's you."

And crap. That's a positive in the risk assessment. The way he says _you_ -as if he really means it, as if I'm currently the only thing he finds hot right now- is so damn tempting.

I flail like a drowning victim for another lifeline.

"Dallas says you're a player and would break my heart."


	8. Chapter 8

i've decided to update today just to make up how little i updated last week. enjoy! it's been lovely reading all of your reviews. x

* * *

Austin

"Does he?" That asshole. I can't believe he's breaking the locker room code. Maybe it's all friendship to Ally, but Dallas hasn't gotten the message.

She gives a small, noncommittal shrug as if she's slightly embarrassed she brought it up, but now that it's hanging out there, I want to address it. At least I know what some of the things are in her con column.

"I don't know if I like hookups more or less than any other guy," I say diplomatically. But what in the hell am I supposed to say? I've had my share of hookups, but what college guy hasn't?

She makes a humming sound, which doesn't sound like approval or disagreement.

"I mean, I'm not a virgin, and I don't believe in the whole myth that sex saps your energy."

She hums again. Christ, could she say a few words? I'm dying here. If I had a collar, I'd be tugging on it. "I make sure everyone has a good time. Remember rule number one?" She nods, another wordless gesture. "You can jump in here anytime."

Ally swallows and smiles a perverse little grin. "No, I was enjoying the show.

"You little shit." I grab her knee and squeeze it through the blankets. She doesn't even flinch.

She takes another baby sip of her orange juice. "Can I ask you another question? I don't want you to be offended."

"Well, we are besties..." I gesture for her to continue.

"Why is it so many of you athletes are such... well, players? Dallas showed me that Instagram feed. I agree hookups aren't a bad thing. I've had a few of my own, but that many?"

My first reaction is to growl at the thought she's had any guy but me, but then I realize how frickin' hypocritical that is. It never occurred to me that the multitude of times I've had my picture taken with a pretty girl would slot me into the risk category.

I scratch my head, trying to think of the most non-offensive way to explain this. Because me saying I just take what's offered to me on a nonstop basis isn't going to win points. Not with this girl. Hell, probably not with any girl I wanted to have a relationship with.

And is that what I want? A relationship?

I guess so, because I wouldn't be chasing after Ally this hard if all I wanted was a lay. I knew where to get that, how it feels to have that non-emotional hookup. Somewhere along the line, maybe after I heard her sigh the second time at the coffee house, I thought I want to be the one to make this girl sigh with happiness, not with frustration. Then she slayed me with her soft eyes and her smile and her hilarious risk assessment ideas.

I need to find the right words to make her understand that I belong in the reward column.

"Football is hard," I start. "To be a college athlete at this level, football is your number one focus. Sure we say we're student athletes, but we spend six hours a day doing football crap and two hours doing schoolwork. Our job is on the field. That's what we're paid to do. We go to practice, travel to the games, work with the trainers, watch film, and when we're not doing those things, we have to be lifting, so there's not enough time to develop a relationship."

"But they do happen. I mean, Elliot's been dating someone his whole time here."

"Elliot's girlfriend is one he had from high school. In fact, most of the girlfriends are pre-college. Or maybe the guy met his girl during his redshirt season where he didn't travel and wasn't playing every weekend."

Her head tilts to the side as she considers my words. "So you're saying it's just easier to sleep with multiple people? Why not the same one over and over?"

"Because you sleep with anyone more than a few times and it gets messy. Feelings start to develop and then everyone ends up unhappy."

Her voice is low, soft when she says the next unexpected statement. "You sound like you're speaking from personal experience."

I swallow and look away from her. Her words stir up a few uncomfortable memories. But somehow I find myself spilling them. My mouth opens, and the words fall out, as if I need her to know that I tried hard to be something other than the prototypical college athlete. "I dated a girl during my redshirt year. You don't do much as a redshirt because you aren't going to see one down of football on the field. The most important task is strength and conditioning and learning the playbook, but it's not the same thing as actually playing. She was a fun chick and the relationship thing seemed doable. Then I started the second game of my redshirt freshman year after a player got injured. I never gave the position back. Coach noticed me and told me I had a real chance of going pro, but I had to give it my all."

"And your girlfriend didn't understand?"

"She... yeah, that's a nice way of saying it." Kira, my only college girlfriend, had turned from being a sweet, fun girl into an unhappy, demanding one. I could never spend enough time with her.

She wanted to go out and I wanted to go to bed at nine so I could be alert and energized for a 6 a.m. run. The only time I drank was Saturday after a game. Never before. My classes were designed to accommodate my football practice and playing schedule. She wanted me to take classes with her.

In the end, she spent more time screaming at how horrible a boyfriend I was than we did having sex. "I disappointed her a lot. Didn't want to do that again. I was a shitty, shitty boyfriend," I finish. And that wasn't the worst of it, but Ally doesn't need to know the details of my failure.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think your philosophy not only makes sense but is kind of honorable." Her hand creeps across the covers to touch mine.

Her words lift something inside I hadn't realized I'd been carrying for a while now. My breakup with Kira hadn't felt honorable at the time but, looking back, it was the best thing for both of us. I fold my fingers around Ally's, hoping I'm not holding too tight. Hoping she doesn't realize how I'd like to have her hand in mine for the foreseeable future.

"So where's your ex now?"

I shrug. "No clue. She graduated. She was a year older than me and I'm a fourth year junior. I suppose she has a job and is somewhere living an adult, responsible life, dating junior execs and middle managers." At least I hope she is. "How about you? Any guys moping around campus because you broke their hearts?"

"Nope." She pops the last bit of dry, uninteresting toast in her mouth before answering. "My sole boyfriend was in high school and he broke up with me my third week of school. He goes to Cal Poly and decided he didn't want to try out the long-distance relationship thing."

"That sucks," I say, but in reality I'm thrilled.

"You look torn up over it," she says sarcastically.

Have I mentioned how much I enjoy it when she busts my chops? Because I do. I grin unrepentantly. "I'm sorry you got hurt, but not sorry you're single."

"That's honest, at least." She tugs her fingers, and I reluctantly release her. The plate is empty, and it's obvious she's getting fidgety. I guess I can't keep Ally here if she wants to leave, no matter how much I'd like to. "It doesn't really matter whether you're a player or a monk," she says.

"Are we back to the risk assessment?"

"Partly. Tell me what else you're interested in other than football. Because Dallas? Elliot? Gavin? The only thing they ever talk about is football."

"Hey, it's not my problem the offense is full of guys who are one dimensional. I've got other interests," I protest and get to my feet.

"Like what?"

She doesn't even look at me. Under her disinterest, my near nudity feels awkward and embarrassing. I swipe the flannel sleep pants off the floor and shove my legs into them.

"Like..." Fuck, what is the last non-football thing I've done besides drinking and screwing? "I like movies."

"As in you review them? Study them? Write papers on them?"

"I think that shit moves movies from the fun column to the work column." I do a mental inventory of the bathroom. No towels on the floor. No condoms. No random bits of underwear. Deciding it's safe, I offer it to Ally. "You need the bathroom?"

"That'd be great." She pops in and closes the door.

I know she'll hear me talking because the door is as thin as two notebooks pressed together. "I like basketball."

"That's a sport. Falls under the same rubric as football."

Shit. It sort of does. My eyes fall to the chair by the window. "Reading. I like to read."

The rustling inside the bathroom stops. Aha. She likes that. I should have gone there first. Of course she thinks reading is an important skill. Girls like guys who read. There's a whole Instagram feed for that, which I know because Dez and I were on it and have scored more than one out-of-town lay because of it. Last year, during our championship run, a newspaper did a piece on the secret lives of the Gators football team.

Dez and I were in the same Lit class, and we happened to be reading Moby Dick. We took that book with us everywhere, not because it was a great read, but because it was so frickin' boring. We had to force ourselves to finish it. Coach caught us one day and dragged the public relations person in.

We were told to wear our football pants and team workout T-shirts for the article so the outside world would believe we were something more than dumb jocks. As if we sit around the locker room with pants on. What a crock!

"What's your favorite book?" she asks.

"I don't have one favorite book." I try to keep the triumph out of my tone. Don't know how successful I am.

"Name one and don't be so smug."

Not very successful.

"It's a series. Harry Potter. I grew up reading that series."

"What's your Patronus?"

"Ah ah ah," I say. "You're not getting that out of me. I'm not near drunk enough." Tell her the spirit animal I picked out at the age of eight? No.

"I work at Starbucks. If you tell me what it is, I'll make your Patronus out of foam."

"That's tempting, but still no." I lean against the door, thinking this is probably the least sexual but most interesting conversation I've ever had in my bedroom before. "Can you really do that? Make pictures out of milk."

The door opens and Ally appears in skinny jeans and an oversized off-white sweater that hides all the good parts, including her ass. But she still looks sexy as hell. It's like the wrapping on a present. I can't wait to peel it off her.

"Actually, no. The most I can do is a leaf and a heart." She drops her folded pajamas into her bag. "I'm not quizzing you anymore, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but favorite character of the series?"

"Snape," I answer immediately.

"Really?"

"You think I was going to say Ron?" I'm slightly offended.

She laughs. "No. I don't think Ron is anyone's favorite character. But don't most guys like Harry or, I guess, Draco?"

"Nah, Snape was the best. He had a big heart and was courageous."

She chews the corner of her lip. "Also a bully, but I can see where you get the other characteristics. So no class for you today?"

I shake my head. "Nah. I attended last week. I don't want my professors to keel over in shock by going too often. Besides, this is my break. I don't get a fall break, Thanksgiving break, and only about three days off at Christmas. Even Spring Break is out because we're in the middle of spring ball, so I don't go to class full-time until after Signing Day. All the professors know this and deal with it." It's a perk of being on the championship winning team, and I take full advantage of it. "What do you have?"

"Policy and Prose, which is about writing persuasive legislative works."

"You interested in politics?" I ask in surprise, halting in the middle of clearing away the breakfast shit. She just didn't seem the type-not that I really know what that type would be.

"No, I'm interested in policy. I'd like to get a job at a think tank and just write all day. That'd be my dream job. It's one of the things I like about mock trial. It forces you to look at one problem from both sides. We have to present both defense and plaintiff sides of the case."

"Cool." We need smart people writing our laws. "I'll take this stuff downstairs. You have everything you need before we leave?"

"Before we leave for where?" Her forehead crinkles.

"Before we leave for class."

"I thought you weren't going to class."

"I'm not. I'm walking you to class."

As I exit, she's still sputtering.

* * *

In the end, I let her go by herself. I know full well she doesn't want to be seen with me because of Dallas. Isn't that a kicker? I've never had a problem with someone -girl or guy- wanting to be seen with me. Where the hell did he think she was going to sleep? Shit, that he just kicked her out and didn't make sure she had a safe place last night really rustled my jimmies.

Even if I did have a friend like Ally whom I hadn't tried to bone a hundred different ways, I wouldn't have made her sleep in the living room of a house that saw more action than a brothel in Reno.

"You want to tell me what the hell that's about?" Dez questions when the door closes. "When we gave you all that information, I thought you'd use it to, like, persuade her to help our cause. Not into your bed." He stops and glares at me. "Are you trying to use your dick to convince her that Dallas needs to move?"

"I don't know whether to be chuffed or disturbed you think my dick is that powerful." I scratch my chest, debating whether I want to go over to the athletic facility for something to eat or just rustle up a mid-morning snack here. Five pieces of bacon and a piece of toast aren't enough to keep a bird alive.

"Seriously, man. Sleeping with her? That's low, buddy." Dez follows me into the kitchen.

"I'm not. Or I did sleep with her, but that's all we did. Sleep." The refrigerator is alarmingly empty. During the season, we almost always grab food at the athletic center. Dinners are on campus. But we're in that weird period of no practice and no games. There's only the morning weight training that we're unofficially required to attend daily, and so we're eating more at home. So much so that we only have a half gallon of orange juice, a case of beer, and what looks like a brick of moldy cheese. Dez must have used the last of our food to make breakfast.

"Brother, you can tell me. I'll only judge you for today."

"I'm not lying to you. Shit, I can't believe I'm trying to convince you I didn't sleep with a chick." I throw up my hands. "Why don't we have any food?"

"Because going to the grocery store is more painful than an enema?" Dez suggests. "Look, I believe you. But how'd that happen? She just trip and fall into your bed? She pass out on the way to class and you carried her home?"

"How about her apartment was being fumigated, she was supposed to crash in Dallas' room, he brought home a jersey chaser, and she was stuck sleeping on a couch in their living room?"

Dez's mouth drops open. "You're fucking me."

"Nope."

"Duuuude."

"I know." I head for my room and start dressing. We need food and probably some basic supplies. I check the toothpaste in my bathroom. Yup. Almost gone.

"What is wrong with that guy?" Dez asks.

"This stuff is fucking with his head."

"I don't know, man. You don't treat a friend like that," Dez says dubiously.

"Don't make me defend him anymore. He told me yesterday he's not moving."

"The D guys are already watching the boy on YouTube."

"Terrific," I say in a tone that conveys it's anything but terrific. After shoving my feet into some boots, I grab my keys. "Come on. We need some food. Once we have something to eat, we'll be able to think more clearly."

Dez's at the front door, punching something into his phone. He slips the device into his pocket when he sees me. Guilt is all over his face. "Who're you texting?"

"No one," he says innocently. At my steady glare, he caves. "Okay, Jace. It was Jace, all right? He had a good idea."

"What is it?" There's no point in not asking. Dez will, well, hammer away at this idea of theirs until I give it a hearing.

"She's in mock trial, right?" At my nod, he gains enthusiasm. "You need to present this to her as a case."

"I'm not studying to be a lawyer," I remind him. The conversation is put on pause until we both climb into my Rover.

"You're the closest thing we've got. The only other guys that come close are Rupert, who's a psych major, and Nigel, who's studying humanities."

"I've never understood what a humanities major is."

"Fuck if I know." Dez shrugs. "The point is, you're the captain of the defense now, so even if you weren't into the law like you are, you'd still be the person to do it. And she slept in your bed last night."

Goddammit. Since when do I have to be the "leader" of this team? I don't mind calling the plays on the field. That shit is fun. Even going to the center of the field and trying to intimidate the opposing team's quarterback during the coin toss is high on my shits and giggles list. But dictating what's right or wrong for our team? That's the fucking coach's job, not mine.

"Dez." I shoot him a quick glare. "You did not tell Jace she stayed overnight."

Dez looks guiltily down at the phone he's pulled out of his pants pocket. "He saw her coming out of the house, and I might have said something about how you've got an inside track on her."

I take a deep breath and count to ten so I don't give in to the urge to pull over, rip off Dez's arm, and beat him with it. "What exactly did you say?"

"That you had the inside track."

"I thought you were all incensed that I was using her." I slam the brakes a little harshly at the stoplight. "And now we're telling the entire team Ally and I are fucking."

"No way, brother. I told Jace the whole story about her getting kicked out of her apartment and then Dallas dragging some girl home from the Gas Station." He waves a careless hand. "He already knew that because apparently Dallas had sex with the girl in the storage closet before they left."

"This is why we need to be drinking at the Playground and not out and about," I grind out between my teeth. The boys had convinced me that going to a bar on Tuesday night would be okay because there wouldn't be many people out. But once word leaked that the team was there, everyone showed up. I dragged the defensive guys home with me when the bar started filling up.

"They better not be talking shit about Ally," I warn.

"No. It's all good," he assures me. "So you gonna do it or what? Because if anyone can convince Dallas to step aside for Mr. Texas, it's his BFF."

I hesitate. Dez is not wrong there. Dallas and Ally have some kind of relationship, even if I'd prefer to deny it existed. But it's strong enough to put me in the risk column even after last night. She was still holding back this morning.

But if I could present it someway to her... Hell, it would make my life so much easier. If she were to persuade Dallas to move to safety, then Coach would be happy, the boys on D would be happy, and the offense would have to accept it.

The major potential downside of this is if I piss her off by even bringing up the subject. Last night, she was steamed when she thought Gavin and I were talking about Dallas. She clearly knows something, and if she thinks I'm trying to use her? My dick and balls would be cut off and stuffed down my throat before I could blink twice for help.

I'd even put myself in the risk assessment for that. But maybe if I just laid it out for her like Dez suggested. As if I was making a case for Dallas, and she could decide for herself if it made sense to sway him one way or the other.

"I'll think about it." But the sick feeling in my stomach tells me it's not a good solution. Obviously Dallas is whispering Iago-like into her ear that the football team is full of shitty guys. If she takes this wrong, there's no coming back from it.

Plus, I don't like how Dallas is so influential with Ally. On the flip side, maybe she's influential with him. But using her would be crappy.

I swing into the parking lot of the grocery store. Dez joins me inside the store. I pick up a basket. We exchange a look and both shake our heads. I put the basket back and grab a cart.

"Let's get our shit and get out." Dez heads toward the snack food aisle while I loiter in the produce section. I throw a few plastic containers of veggies into the cart and then go find some frozen fish.

"What the fuck are you buying?" Dez asks me as I roll the cart toward the checkout aisle. "Did you get an email from the trainer?" He looks me with concern. "Shit, do we have to start earlier this year?"

"No, I didn't get any email. This is just..." I rub the back of my neck self-consciously because I'm buying food for a woman who I haven't even slept with. I'm fucking wooing her with broccoli heads and apples.

"Just what?" Dez prompts.

"Just thinking I should eat better. Set a good example," I improvise.

"Then I guess this is all for me." The bastard shakes his bag of Doritos.

I force myself to turn away before I start drooling.

On the way back home, Dez lays out the plan he and Jace have cooked up.

Somehow I don't think gathering a list of all the quarterbacks who never made it to the next level is going to be very convincing. On the other hand, I can't come out and say, "Hey, your buddy Dallas can't be quarterback anymore. Want to help me convince him moving to safety is the right call? And, oh by the way, I think you're sexy as hell. Can you introduce me to your mattress before we ruin your best friend's life?"

I think I better get used to eating broccoli instead of chips for the next couple of weeks.

* * *

Ally

"So when you were kissing him, did you feel bored and weird, like this guy's tongue feels like an uncooked piece of meat? Or was it more like, holy hell, we should set up a national kissing booth because this guy could retire this country's debt in one day," Carrie asks as we go for our mid-afternoon walk.

I hate exercise, but I need some kind of regular activity daily.

"Definitely the latter. It was so good I'm considering giving up sex for the rest of my life because everything hereafter will be a disappointment."

"Girl, why did you not have sex with him?"

"Honestly, because at first he wasn't my type." Before Carrie can voice her disgusted astonishment, I hold up a hand. "Yes, I know. He's so good looking that he's probably Mother Teresa's type, but every guy I've ever been attracted to in the past has been pretty much the opposite of Austin."

"Fine, what are your other reasons, Miss Risk Averse?"

"He's a player. There were so many pictures of him with his arm around a girl on Instagram, I got tired of scrolling. Dallas says Austin's dick has seen so much vag it's now writing journal articles for OB GYN Today."

"Make him double up." Carrie shrugs. "And what the hell is Dallas' problem? He's no angel himself. I can't believe he brought some girl home and expected you to watch him."

"I'm not happy about it, but isn't Dallas' warning even more meaningful? Because he clearly knows what he's talking about. Like you're a film major, so I respect your opinion on films. Dallas is obviously getting his degree in random hookups."

One of the girls from my PoliProse class runs by. Carrie waits until the girl passes before turning to me. "I know you don't believe me, but I think Dallas is really hung up on you." This time it's her turn to hold up a finger and ask me to wait. "Hear me out. Your mock trial thingy is big on hypotheticals right? I always hear you practicing with Miles, 'assume the sky is green and the grass is blue. That would make everything inverse, correct?'"

"You do a nice imitation. Maybe next year, you can be on the trial team."

"I love you, Ally, but never in a million years. I find it really boring."

"I know. I don't care."

"Which is why we're friends, but going back to Dallas, let's do a hypothetical, 'kay?"

"Go ahead." It's not like I can say no. Carrie would hound me until I listened anyway, even if it took climbing into my bed tonight and whispering it in my ear.

"Let's assume Dallas is in love with you but he knows you don't love him back. He decides he'll wait you out. Someday you'll wake up and see the amazingness that is him." She ignores my rolling eyes. "Until then he has to ward off any potential suitors. He does this two ways. He first tells the team you're off-limits because he's close to you. He's called 'dibs,' so to speak."

"Because we're property and therefore dibbable."

"Right." Carrie nods, ignoring my sarcasm. "After warning away the team, he prevents any potential slippage by making sure you have a bad opinion of his teammates. These are all prime, datable alpha males. Girls flock to them but some girls, like you and me, base attractiveness on personality. So if we believe they're stupid assholes likely to cheat, it doesn't matter how good looking they are. You, especially, are going to slot these players into the 'no' column."

"Your hypothetical doesn't work because Dallas and I have no feelings for each other besides friendship. I've known Dallas since he was a snot-nosed eight-year-old. Any potential romance between us died out long ago, buried under a pile of bad-smelling clothes." I tick off a list of reasons why. "Dallas didn't learn about deodorant until he was way past puberty. When I think of Dallas, I don't think dreamy male, I think of his constant farting in the fifth grade. He thought it hilarious to point his gas cannon in my face." Carrie wrinkles her nose. "Exactly, thank you. I had to complain to his mother before he stopped. Plus, he has horrible taste in movies. Do you know what he wants me to see this Thursday?"

"No. I'm scared, though." She looks alarmed.

"You should be. Expendables 3. Need I say more?"

"Okay, but these are all the reasons you're not in love with Dallas, which I believe 100% because I don't get any vibe that you like him, which is why I sorta can buy into your 'Austin isn't my type' thing. But none of those are reasons why Dallas isn't in love with you."

"Does a guy who's in love with someone else bring a girl home and try to screw her in front of said love interest?"

Carrie bobs her head back and forth. "Fair enough. But maybe he's one of those tortured, Byronic heroes who can't stop hurting everyone around him because he's in so much pain himself."

"Oh, Lord, Carrie. You definitely think with the creative parts of your brain." I throw up my hands. "You're conjuring up a scenario that doesn't exist."

"How is that different than what you're doing with Austin? All your excuses about not dating him involve things that haven't happened. You don't have any proof he cheated on someone. So he enjoys the ladies. Big whooping deal. In fact, didn't you say he dated someone his freshman year and it broke up because he didn't pay enough attention to her? That's not the same as cheating on her. It's not like you want some guy breathing down your neck. You've got a lot of shit on your plate. It would be a relief to go out with someone who's as busy as you," Carrie argues. "Plus, you spent the night with him and he didn't even make a move. That doesn't say player to me. He's totally respected all your boundaries. I know you like to play it safe, but right now, honey? You're being chicken."

She's right. There is a difference between being cautious and being cowardly. I grab my head. "I keep going around and around in my mind about this. You're right. He doesn't come off like a guy who just wants to get into some girl's pants."

"So why are you holding back? Why are you punishing yourself?"

Carrie's practically echoing Austin's words. _Sounds like your risk assessments keep you from having fun as opposed to keeping you safe._

"You look stressed, Alls."

My head whips up and there's Austin standing outside of the small university bookstore at the south end of campus. Carrie and I have walked nearly two miles arguing about Austin and I'm just now realizing it.

"This is a goddamned sign," Carrie hisses in my ear. "You can't escape this, Ally. A higher power is conspiring to get you two naked. Give in or the apocalypse is coming." She backs away without even introducing herself to Austin. "I'm blaming you if the zombies come," she yells and starts running in the other direction.

He lifts his T-shirt to his nose. "Do I stink?"

"No. Carrie had an emergency." A meddling emergency.

"Your roommate," he identifies. "Not the one I have class with but the other one? Which one is taking up my spot on your lease?"

My lips quirk up. I can hardly believe he remembers what we talked about our first night together. But then it was only a week ago. Still, how many guys remember their flirtations in such detail? "That would be Carrie. Piper and I had a class our freshman year and Carrie is her sister."

"Good call." He nods approvingly.

"Were you getting a study aid?" I tip my head toward the bookstore.

"Nope. Buying some porn." He holds up the latest Ludlum thriller. Under the pretense of inspecting the book, I let my eyes drink him in. He looks like a modern day James Dean. Black leather coat unzipped over a dark blue T-shirt. Jeans barely contain his powerful legs. Black boots finish off the bad-boy look.

It doesn't help anyone that his hair is mussed from the beanie that's half hanging out of the right coat pocket.

And I kind of hate that my heart sings and sighs at the sight of him. But I'm done fighting my attraction to him. What's the point? I'm in college. I'm supposed to have fun. He's not the same kind of bad as drinking five shots of tequila at a frat party. He might feel as heady, might make me just as reckless, but I'm not going into any coma after having sex with him.

Besides, the sex would be good exercise. It would actually be healthy for me to sleep with him. It would be good for both my mind and my body. If I did him just once, I'd be taking only a tiny risk. The smallest. The minutest. It's almost not even a risk to be with him once.

 _Unless you become addicted_ , whispers my internal risk advisor. I order her to shut the hell up.

"Maybe you don't need that book tonight." I take a bold step forward and pluck it out of his hands.


	9. Chapter 9

Austin

I'm speechless. She's literally rendered me completely without speech.

"Just for tonight?" I manage to croak out when her confident look starts to falter under my stupid, stupid silence.

"What else do you want?"

 _Fuck, so much, Ally,_ I think, but so I don't scare her off, I say, "I'd like to date you."

"You told me you were a shitty boyfriend before."

I'm not the wordsmith she is. I want to put my true feelings out there as best I can, but I've never had to say anything like this before. Not even to Kira did I articulate my feelings, but looking back that's probably because I didn't have many beyond, she's a nice girl and a good lay.

I've had plenty of sex since then but nothing like the kiss in the kitchen. Nothing like Ally. Her chestnut highlights shine with its own sort of light, and I can't stop myself from curling a wayward lock around my finger. "Yeah, I freely admit I sucked at the boyfriend thing before, and you have every reason to think I'm going to fail at this, but I'm going into my senior year. I've been doing the practice, school, game thing for three years now. I think I can add in a girlfriend to the mix without throwing everything off."

"I don't know." She hesitates. "A date?"

"Yep. Movie. Dinner. Long walks on the beach and all that nice stuff. Maybe even take a trip down to Orlando, if you're game."

She's silent too long, and I don't have the first clue what's going on in her head. I'm hopeful she's going to say yes, but the longer I get nothing, the more worried I become.

"Admit it. You're curious. Our kiss was hot the other night," I remind her. So hot that I've been thinking of it nonstop.

"My friend Carrie says players like you only have one night stands because your enormous egos can't handle knowing that you aren't good in bed."

"Your friend Carrie has never slept with me."

"She's one of the few then."

I walked into that one. "Then you owe it to yourself to give me one night and see if I'm worth it. One night to see if we're even compatible. How about that?"

If she won't agree to a date, then I'll have to use tonight to convince her that whatever risk grade she's assigned to me is outweighed by the rewards I can provide.

Dusk settles in, and the newly lit campus lights give her a fairy glow. _Ally, you're sleeping in the right bed tonight._ Her eyes fix on my face, and she studies me for at least two long breaths. She ends her inspection with a firm nod.

Her somber face switches instantly, and she gives me a brilliant smile. "Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, one night."

She takes the lead, marching briskly toward her apartment. "Do you have condoms?" she asks. "Because I don't."

"If I say yes, are you putting a check in the con column?" I ask warily.

"No, it'd save us time. Otherwise we'll have to stop somewhere."

"Maybe we should stop anyway," I suggest because I only have the one. I've carried a condom in my wallet since I was twelve. My mom gave me the first one after I had my first embarrassing wet dream, and she found me shoving my sheets into the washing machine.

"Why? Don't you have any?" she asks.

"I only have one." I emphasize the number. Her eyes widen.

"You think we're going to need more than one?" She laughs.

Some guys' nuts might have shriveled up. I view this as a challenge. "Ally, we're going to need at least three."

"No way," she scoffs, but as she realizes I'm not kidding even a little, her laughter turns to skepticism. "Really?"

I resist rubbing my hands together. "You can keep count."

We stop at the store and buy a box of condoms. The clerk smirks and starts to make a dumbass comment but between Ally's withering look and my warning glare, he wisely rings us up silently and tucks the box into a brown paper bag.

"I forget sometimes that you're a world-class athlete," she mentions as we climb the steps to her apartment. "And sex is an athletic event. You know Paul Brown believed women shouldn't be allowed around his Cleveland team because they sapped the players' energy."

"First, the only athletic event I've been involved in for the last couple of weeks has been seeing how much I can drink in one night and second, please, I want you to sap my energy. I want you to sap me until I'm dry."

"You can stop now," she says repressively. "I get it."

I guess my dirty-talk skills need work. We stop at her door. As she fits her key into the lock, she says, "I have roommates, so you'll need to be quiet."

I run a finger across my lips. "Done."

Ally doesn't really get it, not yet at least. But I want her bad enough that I'd do practically anything to get her clothes off and us on her bed.

For all her worry, the apartment is dead silent when she opens the door. Her roommates are either hiding in their rooms or they're at dinner. Given the quiet in the apartment, I'm guessing dinner.

I help Ally out of her coat, then take mine off and drape it over my arm. I'm not sure where she wants me to put my stuff.

"You can hang your jacket up and, um, take your boots off?" It's more question than instruction.

I like that she's unsure what to do with me, that this event is foreign enough there's no practiced routine of where the visitor's coat and shoes go. I toe off my boots and drape my jacket over hers.

"Do you want to watch some TV?" I ask, trying to give her an out and desperately hoping she doesn't take it.

"No. I don't want that, do you?"

"No." I lean down and brush my lips across hers because it's been a while since I've kissed her and I need to feel her sweetness against me. She sways into me, her body telling me all I need to know. "Lead the way," I mouth against her lips.

"First door."

A floor lamp flicks on when she hits a switch. Her room is small and white, and I feel sort of like Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians. "Your bed is really small," I say inanely.

"Maybe you're too big," she suggests.

I give her a cheeky wink. "Said no guy ever."

Fortunately, she laughs. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No." My need for food, water, football? They seem like distant desires in the face of the fierce ache I have for her. I feel like I've wanted to touch her for forever, even though I've only known her a few days. When she starts to pull her sweater over her head, I stop her. I sit down at her desk chair, which feels miniature. I pat my leg. "I would like you to come here."

She walks over and stops in front of me. I position her between my legs and lay my head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat. It flutters, excited and nervous against my ear. My own pounds like a herd of stampeding horses is trying to escape from my chest.

With shaky fingers, I slide her sweater over her head. Underneath she wears a thin silky thing and no bra. Her pert nipples poke against the fabric. I run my hands up under the material, tracing the bumps of her spine, the jut of her shoulder blades. Her eyelids shutter down when I reach the tender base of the back of her neck.

I don't want to rush this. I might not get another chance to touch her again.

The tiny strap of her top slides down her shoulder, the fabric snagging on one erect peak. My mouth waters, and I can't wait another second without laying my mouth against her bare skin. I nudge the fabric down with my chin. She helps me by wriggling her arm out from the strap, first one and then the other.

I take another moment to admire her. "You're beautiful," I say, unable to keep the reverence out of my voice. "So beautiful."

Her fingers find their way to my scalp, scratching and scraping through the strands then lightly pushing me forward.

I blow a stream of hot air against one nipple and then the other. She shudders, and it's like a live electric feed running from her body into mine.

Fucking Christ, but I want her so damn bad.

I take one succulent tip into my mouth and cover the other with my hand. She's smaller than I expected but twice as delicious, and as I swirl my tongue around her nipple, I can't help but think she was made perfectly for me.

Her fingers sink into my scalp, pulling me closer. We both shift. I slide to the edge of the chair; she straddles me. I keep sucking, and she keeps pressing closer and closer.

There's a moan that fills the air, a guttural sound of need and want. I don't know if it's mine or hers. It's probably mine. In my life, I can't remember ever wanting anything as much I want her.

I've hungered for wins on the field, championships, success, but never a person. Not until Ally.

* * *

Ally

The suction on my nipples is making me dizzy. I can't recall if I've ever felt this much pleasure from having my nips sucked. I swear I can feel it between my legs with each deep pull.

I never really doubted he'd be good in bed. He knows all too well how to use his body to maximize its athletic ability. And sex is an athletic event. But guys can be selfish, and no matter how well they know their own bodies, it doesn't mean they care to know how to work another's body.

But Austin isn't selfish in any way. He's incredibly giving, and I enjoy being a recipient of that benevolence right now. Any other guy would have me on the bed, my jeans down around my ankles and my panties pulled aside. Which is not to say I don't want to do that with Austin, but his unhurried manner is a welcome surprise.

Him kissing my breasts isn't a step toward a good fuck. It's just pleasurable and wonderful in its own right. Just like our first kiss. Just like sitting on his bed and talking. He savors each moment.

And I can tell by the press of his erection against my stomach that he's enjoying the hell out of this. I rock against him, relishing the pressure of his dick, even through the layers of denim and cotton.

He pulls back, and the cool air against my wet skin is its own kind of erotic sensation.

His fingers slide into my waistband, under my panties. "Don't worry. I'm going to do all the work."

"You will, huh?"

"Yeah." He surges to his feet and in two steps drops my ass on the bed. He strips down so fast. His shirt flies off his head and his jeans and underwear fall to the floor in no time. He stands before me like the "small g" god that he jokingly called himself.

His body is perfectly formed, a testament to a careful diet and nonstop workouts. He leans forward, his shaft hanging heavy between us, and plants a hand on either side of my waist.

"I can't wait to get my mouth on you and test out how good you taste."

He lifts me with one hand and somehow drags down my jeans with the other until I'm wearing nothing but my camisole around my waist and a pair of damp lavender lace panties.

"I can't wait to feel you and test out how wet you are."

"Austin," I warn.

"What? Does the dirty talk embarrass you?" He slips a finger between my legs. "I told you I like to talk during sex. Besides, even if you're turning redder than the Oklahoma uniforms, it turns you on. I'm going to suck on your clit here." He rubs my clit, and I can't deny the flood of excitement that washes through me. "And then tongue-fuck your sweet pussy until you come all over my face."

I grow wetter and redder with each word. "Austin, shut up."

He laughs and strokes me again over my panties. "You know this is the Aussie kiss. Because I'm doing you down under."

"Shut up!" I repeat with a half groan, half laugh.

"I don't know if I can. Maybe you have some idea about what I can do with my mouth." His tone is light but his gaze is hot and hungry. Another finger presses against my aching core, then those two fingers sweep my panties away to touch my bare skin.

But the touch is maddeningly light. He looks at me, waiting.

I give in because I want this so bad. "You should get on your knees and put your mouth on my... pussy." I push the word past my lips.

His eyes light up in mischief. "Yes, ma'am."

He does just as I ordered. He falls to his knees and pulls the rest of my clothes off. And as he did with my breasts, he takes his time.

First he looks, telling me how gorgeous I am. Then he traces the rough pad of his finger over every peak and valley. I can hear the obvious pleasure and delight he takes in just looking at me, and when he finally does place his lips and tongue against me, it's as if he's never done anything so marvelous in his life. It's crazy how good this feels.

I lie back, close my eyes and give myself over to Austin. His hands dig into my butt, simultaneously kneading me and pulling me closer. In his strong grip, I don't need to be careful because he's there to catch me, to carry me, to hold me. And as regressive as that is, it feels wonderful.

The release starts in my toes and winds its way up, twisting and curling until I'm gasping for air. I tug on his head, wanting him to let go, but he shakes me off and delves deeper. His tongue arrows into me, drawing the tension so tight that it's either give in or implode. I come so hard I nearly pass out.

He holds me as I shake, still drinking me down as if he can't get enough. Only when I've calmed enough to open my eyes does he draw back. His mouth is glistening with the evidence of my enjoyment.

A few seconds later and he's on the bed, condom in hand.

"How's the risk/reward assessment going?"

"I'm taking points away if you keep bringing that up," I warn.

"Fair enough. Which one of us is going to put this on the big guy?" He grins, but there's a tension behind that smile, a feral need that he's trying to hide so I won't be scared off.

I raise my hand, and he slaps the condom into my palm. "Of course you call it big."

I place one corner of the foil between my teeth and tear.

"Even if I had a tiny dick, I'd say it was a big one. I'd lie to myself until I believed it. No one can walk around with any confidence if they believe their dick is too small."

"You don't seem to lack confidence, that's for sure." He's entirely comfortable in his nudity.

"Because I'm big." He even reaches down to pat his dick, which is, as he describes, big. And actually sort of beautiful. The mushroom-shaped head is flushed an angry red, and the veins push prominently against the skin. He looks... virile and manly and the opposite of me. And even though I'm not one for male nudity, the sight of him on my bed-unclothed and erect-is mouthwatering.

I position the reservoir over the ruddy head of his penis and begin to roll it down. I don't get much past the head before he puts a hand out to halt me.

"Wait," he says and pulls my hand away. He holds it to the side while he finishes covering himself with the condom.

"What?"

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he flashes them open, the bare hunger is no longer shielded. "I'm too close to the edge and would like to be inside you for at least a couple of seconds before I blow my lid."

He tries to smile, but there's too much want there to be disguised, and it instills a confidence in me, a surety, that I never really had with a male before. I crook my finger. "I figure you're good for another round. You did buy a whole box."

"I did, didn't I?" He dives for me.

I might be wet, but it's a tight fit. Partly because I haven't had sex in a while and partly because he is big. His dick is proportional to the rest of him. Big hands, big feet, broad shoulders. Poised over me, one hand braced by my shoulder and the other guiding the broad head past my entrance, all I can see is him.

He works himself in inch by excruciating inch. The feel of him inside me is headier than I remember. There's something exquisite about the heavy weight of a body above yours. The way a body like Austin's presses you into the mattress. How all your senses are engulfed because you can't see, hear, or feel anything but him.

There's nothing in my head but the roughness of his hair-covered legs against mine and the smell of his citrus-spiced scent that I suck into my lungs. Beneath my fingers, his shoulder muscles clench as he fights for control to give me everything I need.

He lasts longer than a couple of seconds... much longer. He grits his teeth, mumbles numbers under his breath, and stares off into the distance as he pumps his hips in a steady, perfect rhythm against me. I feel each drag of his plump head along my sensitive tissues as he withdraws and the fierce possession as he drives forward. It's more wonderful, more erotic than I could have imagined, than I can even put words to.

And the way he's trying so hard to keep it together long enough for me to enjoy this part as much as when he was kneeling at my feet, his mouth sucking and licking until I came undone, makes my heart squeeze. In this moment, with every part of his body and mind, he's making the case that he's worth every risk.

His hard planes rub against my tender parts. And it isn't just my body that responds to him. My heart opens.

And I know I shouldn't be feeling these things with him, not for one night. I know I should wrap my emotions up in a tight ball and simply enjoy the physical aspect of it. But between the really amazing sex and the tender, almost loving touch Austin lays against me, I can't seem to keep it in, keep it together.

I let his warmth seep into every pore.

He dips down, his strong arms holding his body at the perfect angle above mine, and takes my mouth. His tongue makes love to me with the same patient pacing as his body. We suck on each other's tongues. I hang on his shoulders, wrapping myself around him, arms and legs, until we are one measured, beating being moving in perfect synchronicity.

Why would I want to keep it together? Why not just let go?

He reaches between us, one hand finding my clit. "Here?" he asks.

"Yes, there," I tell him.

He smiles against my mouth and presses and pinches and pulls the second orgasm out of me.

I'm barely conscious of him tensing and muffling a shout against my shoulder. And when his heavy weight pushes me deeper into the mattress, I only have enough energy to wrap my arms around his torso. I don't even care that I can barely breathe.

He rests in my embrace for the count of ten breaths, maybe more, before heaving himself to the side.

I mewl my disappointment, and it wrenches a weak chuckle from him. "Woman, let me recover."

"I'd slap you if I wasn't so weak."

He wedges a hand underneath me and, in one move, flips me onto my side. "Have I mentioned how small your bed is?"

"You might have complained a time or three."

He grunts and hauls me back against his chest. His knees fit into the back of my knees. One strong arm is under my head and the other is banded around my waist. His thumb idly strokes a path from between my breasts down to my navel. It's simultaneously soothing and arousing. The duality of the touch sums up Austin himself. He's both a guy who has had a countless number of partners in the past but somehow still manages to make the girl he's with feel special.

I don't, in any way, feel like I'm one of the nameless crowds. I should be worried about that, about how I'm already erasing the image Dallas had sketched out and am filling in my own image, but it's too late. It's a done thing. Austin has become my Austin -an unselfish guy who seems to only want to make me happy, both in bed and out of it.

"Take a nap. We have to prepare for round three." His breath ghosts against the back of my neck.

I've told him one night, and it appears he wants to get in as much action as possible.

"No. There's no round three. I'm not an athlete. I'm a delicate flower."

He leans forward and presses his mouth against my neck, right below my earlobe. Shit, that's a sensitive spot. "What did I tell you? I'm going to do all the work."

As I fall asleep in the cocoon of Austin's body, I wonder how I'm ever going to be satisfied with one night.


	10. Chapter 10

Ally

"I'm not trying to be annoying, but I have to ask. How was it?" Piper blurts as the door of our apartment building closes behind us.

"He's the unicorn," I admit glumly.

"Damn." Piper jams her hands into her pockets, and we trudge along.

I give her full marks for waiting this long. After Austin left this morning, Piper and Carrie banged on my door and yelled for me to get my ass out into the living room where I would be subject to a full debriefing.

I feigned sleep and hid, not because I was embarrassed, but because I wasn't sure what it all meant.

Piper was dressed in her coat, hat, gloves, and boots when I got home from class. No more escaping her.

The sun's out and there's no wind, which means there are plenty of people out getting a little fresh air. Piper waits until we're relatively alone to pepper me with more questions.

"When are you seeing him again?"

"I don't know."

"Did he say he would call you?"

"I can't remember."

She stops. "What's that mean?"

"It means..." God, how do I put this delicately? "I was too worn out this morning to remember my own name. He whispered something in my ear, but I just wanted to go back to sleep." We'd made real inroads into that box of condoms.

Her mouth drops open. "Damn," she says finally. "Please tell me that you're going to see him again. Or that if you're done with him, I can get a shot."

Every hair on my body bristles in protest. Austin with Piper? My stomach flips over. Austin bracing himself one-armed over Piper's sexy body? I fist my hands. Austin whispering in her ear that he wants her to come all over his dick until there's not an ounce left in her body? I nearly bare my teeth at her. Piper knows immediately, without me saying even a word, how much I don't like the thought of Austin with anyone but me, and bends over to howl with laughter.

"Shut up," I say, but there's no fierceness in my command. It's more of a lament.

I wait until she's done gasping for air to start walking again.

"So what's your hang-up?" she says when she catches up a few minutes later, tears from her laughter still clinging to her eyes. "Because if I felt that possessive about a guy, I wouldn't be letting him go the next morning without a second date chiseled in the sidewalk in front of the student union."

"Why stop there?" I say sarcastically. "How about I brand him? Put my initials on his ass."

"No," Piper disagrees. "If you're going to brand him, it's got to be a place where everyone can see it. Like his wrist. Maybe his knuckles."

"Are you serious?"

"A little bit." She spreads her index and thumb in a mock measurement of sorts.

"See, that's why I'm worried. He's gone a lot, and when he's around and I'm busy, he's going to get bored and wander away." But when I hear myself criticize Austin, I know immediately it's unfair. He told me himself that he hadn't wanted a repeat of his failed freshman romance. I shouldn't insult him by doubting him when he's given me no cause for concern.

"He's not your mom," Piper chides me gently.

"You mean I'm not my mom." I'd hope not. I've spent my whole life trying to not be her.

"No. I meant what I said. You're afraid every hot, attractive guy is your mom, who will end up dumping you and leaving you with your pants around your ankles and a little girl to raise."

I really have to stop talking to Piper so much about my past.

"I..." I don't know what to say, but I don't have to because Piper isn't finished.

"You aren't your mom. You never were. You're just not made up that way. What you fear is falling for someone like your mom: flighty, irresponsible. So you date people who you perceive are just like you. If you were afraid of being your mom, you'd stay away from people who feel like mirrors."

I tug my zipper down to let some cold air into my suddenly too-warm coat, but I don't dismiss Piper's theory out of hand. I've always chosen guys who were careful and cautious. Low angst sort of males. Ones who I figured were too dull or lazy to get tired of me and move on when, in fact, the relationships never got off the ground because of the overwhelming dullness of them.

Not one had been flighty or silly. Austin's not either, but he's bold and that's shocking to my careful, plodding existence. Slowly, I start to put words to my jumbled thoughts. "Assume everything you say is true-"

"It is. Always. Forever," she says smugly.

I ignore her. "Assume what you say is true. That still means Austin and I are opposites, and while the saying is that opposites attract, what happens after they've collided?" I slap my hands together. "My parents were opposites. My dad's a hard worker, my mom is flighty. They don't have anything in common, and it led to a lot of heartbreak for them." For me, too, for that matter. "It's hard for me to envision two people who are opposites sticking together."

Piper chews on that for a moment. "I don't see you and Austin as opposites. You're more alike than you think. You both love being part of a team. You both want to excel at what you do. Really the only difference is that you tend to take a more cautious approach to things, and Austin seems to be a feet-first kind of guy."

"Isn't that a really big difference, though?" Isn't it? Or am I making a bunch of mountains where there doesn't even need to be a hill?

"Only if you want it to be."

* * *

Austin

"Suck a dick, asshole." My thumb presses the controller to the right while I trigger the kick mechanism.

"Already do, dickweed. I've got this." And fuck if Dez doesn't block my shot.

"Fuck." I toss the controller down. I can't concentrate for shit tonight.

"Are you thinking about that girl?" Dez guesses immediately that I'm preoccupied with Ally but can't believe it. He asks in astonishment, "How can you miss her? Didn't you spend all night hauling her ashes?"

"Hauling her ashes?" I shake my head. Dez's getting stranger and stranger.

"No bueno?" He pulls out his phone.

I shake my head. "It sounds like she's dirty inside."

"Hmm. I don't want that."

"Why are you even asking? Aren't fuck, sex, laid, and tapping it good enough?"

"I'm writing my next article about obscure sexual euphemisms." He makes a few notes in his phone.

"How the hell did you decide to write that?"

He grins. "Apparently the magazine gets a lot of searches for that topic, so we're beefing up our search engine optimization by writing on topics people are interested in. What do you think of doodling the alphabet?"

"Only if it's oral, but are you really doodling? I mean, if you're doing it right, you should be applying some serious pressure down there."

"Fuck, man, since when are you requiring dirty sex terms to be so damn precise?" He presses the delete key on his phone a little harder than necessary.

"I don't know." I reach for my beer. This conversation requires me to be a lot drunker than I am. "You asked for my opinion and I'm giving it to you."

"Yeah. Yeah. How about sheathing the sword?"

"Doesn't sound very obscure. That's been around since the Middle Ages." I drink half the bottle. If I get drunk enough, I can drown out Dez and forget Ally. Actually no, if I get too drunk, I'll probably end up outside Ally's apartment.

I did agree to only one night.

Or did I?

I mean, she said one night, but I don't remember making any explicit promises that I'd stay away.

"What about caulking the tub?"

I raise my hand. "Caulk the tub?"

He grins. "It's white. Sticky. You're spreading it all over her."

I want to give him shit, but he's kind of right. "Is this a list for construction workers or women?"

He makes a face. "Good point. Was it any good?"

Normally I didn't have a problem sharing details with Dez. Hell, we'd even double-teamed a girl or girls from time to time. So why did the thought of him knowing anything about Ally's body, her thready moans, her propensity to fuck with her lips slightly parted and her eyes squeezed shut make me want to put a fist through his face?

"What? Not telling me?" He sits back with a smirk. "Are you in love? Should I shake my tux out of storage?"

"I like her. Deal with it." I scowl and pick up the controller again. How'd this off-season become so damned complicated? One minute I was bathing in champagne and the next I'm stressing about the team and now a girl.

"You're not messing with her, are you?" Dez's concern for Ally should piss me off, but it's Dez.

"How come Jace didn't get this lecture?"

"Because he's Jace. And Trish kinda scared me."

"You think I'm an amoral dog? You wanted me to date your sister, for Christ's sake." Okay, now it's starting to piss me off. Dez's done his share of the dirty deeds when it comes to girls. "Do I need to bring up suitcase girl?"

"Nah, man." He flushes under his skin, and I feel a tiny bit guilty bringing it up. Dez always says his lowest moment was that night. "Look, you're a good dude and an awesome teammate, but the whole 'girl hiding in a suitcase' is exactly why I'm worried. We've done some shit neither of us are particularly proud of."

Casual sex had been our modus operandi since I broke it off with Kira at the beginning of my sophomore year. Dez had never been able to stick with one girl or guy, no matter how hard he tried, so we figured the next best thing was one-night or two-night stands with girls who wanted the same thing-no-strings-attached fun in the sack. Or the bathroom. Or the nook by the ice machine in a hotel. The out-of-town girls were the absolute best. They knew you were coming in for the night and didn't expect anything but a good time.

I delivered on every occasion. Ally wanted the same thing, so why didn't it sit right?

Dez does write for a women's magazine. He's got a sister. Of all my friends, he's the most qualified to give advice... I think. Fuck it. What do I have to lose by getting another point of view here?

"Ally was the one who wanted one night. Think she means it?"

"Dunno. Why not text her and find out?"

Why don't I just text her? She did, at least, give me her phone number last night before kicking me out. I want to slap myself on the forehead. And I told Ally to stop overthinking things.

I pull out my phone and start typing.

"How about surfing the curve?" Dez says.

My fingers pause over the screen as my mind takes a minute to figure out exactly what the hell Dez is talking about. "I think I read that on a Twitter hashtag."

"Fuck. I think I did, too." He presses the backspace on his phone.

Shaking my head, I text Ally.

 _Me: What're you doing?_

 _Ally: End of mock trial practice. May not make it home. Was so horrible may commit hara-kari._

 _Me: Can that wait until tomorrow? I'd like to see you again._

 _Ally: I plan to watch a psychological drama with my roommates. You?_

 _Me: Losing badly at FIFA Soccer to Dez._

"What about laying the lumber?"

I look up from my phone and share a smirk with Dez. One particular college football commentator constantly uses some variation of "laying the lumber" or "laying the wood" when referencing a hard hit. Why? None of us can figure it out, but we laugh like we're in middle school every time he says it. He says it a lot.

"Absolutely, you need to include that one," I inform Dez before returning to my texts.

 _Ally: Sounds thrilling._

 _Me: How hard and fast was that one-night rule?_

There's a long pause, and the stupid animated ellipsis cycles repeatedly from one end of the tiny gray balloon to the other while I stare at the screen like Moses waiting for the ten commandments to be inscribed in the stone tablets. Whoever thought of that texting feature should be shot.

Finally, the text comes through.

 _Ally: I don't know. Suppose you can come over._

I get up the second I'm done reading the text. Dez grabs my sweats. "What the hell? We're in the middle of a game."

"I forfeit."

"You going to Ally's place? Have you talked to her about Dallas yet?"

"I'm handling it." I scowl. _Way to be a buzzkill, Dez._

"Handling it how? Because I was talking to Trent the other night and he said Dallas hasn't indicated that he's interested in joining Trent's backfield. Plus, he said that some of the O-line guys are pissed off about it and are looking for a little off-season throwdown. Situation is going to get out of control if you don't do something."

"Great. Why don't you tell Trent to worry about getting the secondary in shape with the guys he has? I'll worry about Dallas."

"This Ally girl has to have some influence on Dallas. I mean, look at Jace and Trish. She's got him wrapped around her finger. If she asked him to move to safety, he'd be doing drills with Trent tomorrow," Dez insists.

"I'm getting sick and tired of people lumping Dallas and Ally together. They aren't a fucking couple."

"Hey, man. Maybe not in Ally's mind, but he's got her picture in his locker."

"So fucking what?" Jesus, I'm reduced to being jealous of a girl's friend. I don't like that about me, but I can't deny the truth of it. Every time I think of Dallas and Ally together, it makes me want to crush objects into tiny, dusty particles.

Dez backs away. "Why don't you put your guns away. We don't have to talk about it right now. We can table it." I look down and see my hands curled into fists. "I do have some advice about Ally, though. First, you should admit your feelings to her. Girls love feelings. They love talking about their feelings. So tell her that she makes you think of birds and flowers."

"Birds and flowers?" I gape at him. The last thing I think of when it comes to Ally is birds and flowers. Big words, long brunette hair, yes. Delicate, fluttery things? No.

"Second," he continues as if I'm not even here. In fact, is he dictating into his phone? "Don't ever mention that you had sex in the past. It's good to be experienced but not too experienced. You want to be the gentleman in the streets, but the guy who can get his freak on, because you read it in a book, in the sheets. Third-"

I hold up my hand before Dez can go on. "No, sorry. I don't listen to your advice anymore."

He looks hurt. "Why not? I'm a professional."

"Your articles consist of how to recognize when your type is the asshole and what to do next and how to enjoy yourself when your partner is selfish, which have zero to do with dating."

"They have everything to do with dating," Dez protests.

"I'm asking Jace."

"Wait a second. Jace? Dude has never dated in his life."

"And now he has a girlfriend."

I run upstairs to the third-floor apartment and pound on the door. It swings open a minute later, and Trish steps out, flushed. "Bye, babe."

Jace is right behind her sporting sleepy eyes and a smug-as-shit smile. They just had sex.

"Trish, just the person I want to talk to. I'm going over to a girl's place. Should I bring something?"

"I don't know. What's the context?"

"We're just hanging out." Hopefully having sex later so I can wear the same smug-as-shit smile.

"Yeah, I'd definitely bring something. Maybe something to drink. A snack even. If you're hungry, bring something for yourself."

I know exactly what I'll bring. "Thanks."

Dez's at the base of the stairs looking offended. "I could have given you that advice."

"Dude, fine. Next time I need some advice on obscure phrases for sex, I'll come to you. Now get out of the way. I need to throw some clothes on and get to Starbucks."

* * *

"Hey, ladies."

Two girls stand just inside the entrance to Ally's apartment. Both faces hold a certain amount of skepticism, as if opening the door wider might let in a host of demons, not just one dude.

"I'm Piper, this is Carrie." The shorter blonde girl tips her head toward the other blonde.

"Nice to meet you. I brought coffee." I hold up the cardboard beverage container. "I wasn't sure what you all wanted but Starbucks said Ally usually drinks a peppermint mocha."

"You went to Starbucks and asked what she likes to drink?" Piper's eyebrows shoot high onto her forehead.

Shit, have I made a mistake here? Should I have played it cooler? "Too stalkerish?"

"Too awesome." Piper drags me inside and slams the door shut.

"What else did you bring?" She takes the beverage holder from my hand, and Carrie reaches for the bag under my arm.

"He brought Fruity Mint Swirl ice-cream," announces Piper.

The two stare at me like I've got two heads.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask with slight alarm. I look down to check whether my zipper is shut. Yup, the barn door is closed.

"Did you really bring over a container of her favorite ice cream and latte?"

I take a sip. "It tastes okay." Fuck, coffee is disgusting but this is for Ally, so I'm suffering through it.

"What are you?"

"Are you real?"

Their skepticism is disconcerting. "I think the real question is what kind of guys are you dating that this is a phenomenon rather than an ordinary occurrence."

Fortunately, Ally blows in before the two can dissect me any further. "Here." I shove the drink into her hands. "For you."

"Thanks." She takes a deep sip and hands the drink back to me along with her backpack.

"How was mock trial?" Piper asks.

"Terrible. Elle seems to have forgotten everything. I was off my game and kept missing objections. Sun Hee was completely rattled and Miles had to leave the room four times to keep from yelling at us. I don't get Elle. She's like two different people. One day she performs flawlessly and two days later it's like she doesn't even remember that she's on the team."

"Maybe she's has a twin." I take Ally's coat and hang it on the hook, placing mine on top of it. There. It's my jacket covering hers. Not Dallas'. Not the Ken doll's from the coffee store. Mine.

 _Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine._

I'm an only child. I don't like to share. Won't share. Don't believe in sharing.

Ally shudders. "A twin? The world does not deserve two Elles. But you know? I don't want to talk about it. Let's turn the television on."

"You sure you want to watch that show?" Carrie asks in a stage whisper.

"Why wouldn't we?" Ally responds with annoyance.

Carrie jerks her head toward me. "Because he's here."

"Don't change your plans on my account." I raise both hands.

Their version of a psychological drama is a show about wedding dresses. During the opening credits, my phone rings. I ignore it. Ally is sitting only a half cushion away from me and I'm plotting how to eliminate the distance. With her two roommates watching my every move, I don't make much progress.

Against my will, I'm drawn into the sad story about two women who can't stand up to their moms and how they're desperate for just a smile from the older women. I guess it is a psychological drama, but hell, I'd watch a dozen weepy chick flicks if it meant Ally was within touching distance. Halfway through the second one, she's pushed her bare feet under my thigh. For warmth, she informed me. _Whatever excuse you want to give, Alls_. _I'm here to warm everything from your toes to your pussy to your delicious-looking mouth._ My phone beeps again.

"You can get that," Ally says.

"You're sure? I don't want to be rude." I don't really know the details of dating anymore. I know answering my cellphone when I was dating Kira was a huge pet peeve of hers.

"Yeah, I mean, the show's pretty repetitive. Carrie's on her phone and Piper's doing homework."

I slip out my phone. "It's Dez." I turn the screen to her so she can read the _'sup?_

 _Me: Watching TV._

 _Dez: What do you think of spa day?_

 _Me: I guess?_

 _Dez: Ask your panel of experts._

 _Me: Panel of what?_

 _Dez: Ally and her friends. Ask them._

Oh, for fuck's sake. I turn to Ally. "My roommate Dez writes a man's advice column for a women's magazine. He wants me to consult you on whether his list of euphemisms for sex is any good. Feel free to say no."

Carrie slaps her hands against her face. "Oh my God. Your roommate has a magazine?" At my nod, she turns to Piper and Ally. "Dez writes 'From My Three Eyes' column in Monologue."

"'Three Eyes'? For real?" I had no idea what Dez's column was named.

"It's cheeky. We know what it means." She rolls her eyes at my shock.

Cheeky? Sounds vulgar. I realize my assumptions of women are all wrong, but that's my own damn fault for not spending more time with them when they have their clothes on.

"I love 'Three Eyes,'" Carrie exclaims. "I had no idea he went to UF!"

"He wants to know if he can come over to hang." I turn the phone again so Ally can read his message, knowing she'll appreciate it. _I'm available to meet with my new fan club. Tell me when and where._

"Sure, why not?"

"Tell him to bring us something," Piper declares. "What do we want?"

"We're out of microwave popcorn."

"On it," I tell them.

 _Me: Price of admission is popcorn. There are five of us._

 _Dez: Make that six. Jace is bored now that Trish is at work._

"Okay if my buddy Jace comes over? His girlfriend is working."

"Sure. The more the merrier, but someone will have to sit on the floor."

"Dez can. He's used to it."

I don't know if he's used to sitting on the floor, but he'll do it and he'll like it because I'm not moving my ass from Ally's sofa until she physically hoists me out of here.

I'm part of her life now. She's not getting rid of me.


	11. Chapter 11

Ally

Austin is too damn charming for his own good, I decide the following morning.

And it isn't his size or body or face that turns me on. It's him. His easygoing nature, his willingness to answer anything put in front of him, the way he makes fun of himself. It's so easy to be around him. He brought me treats last night, watched four episodes of Say Yes to the Dress, and we laughed ourselves silly over Dez's list.

He left with his friends but not before giving me a long hug-one that left me in no doubt whether he'd have liked to stay the night. Both Piper and Carrie gave me a hard time, saying I was a fool not to take what was being offered to me on a silver platter.

I open my can of soup and consider the whole risk assessment thing. They're right. He doesn't appear to be much of a risk at all, or no greater risk than any other guy I've gone out with before. And the rewards? Holy hell, the rewards are like having a million dollars at the bottom of a bungee jump. My stomach's in my throat, but it's totally worth it.

As I dump the can into the bowl, the wall phone rings. I pick it up, hoping it's Austin. If it is, I know what I'm having right after lunch. I grin to myself.

My happiness fades when I hear the voice.

"It's me. Let me up," Dallas says impatiently.

He texted a few times since the Tuesday night debacle, but I haven't completely forgiven him. It was an asshole thing to do, and none of his texts have been apologies. I suppose he thinks I'm going to that movie with him tonight. I'm not. I scheduled a practice with Elle and Miles.

I feel a twinge of guilt that I broke my pact with Dallas: he'd stay away from my roommates and I'd stay away from the football team.

It was easy up until I met Austin. After all, I lasted nearly three years unimpressed and unmoved by the entire team. And it's not like there weren't opportunities, but none of them interested me. If I'm going to date Austin, I'll need to tell Dallas. He deserves it.

However, Dallas acting like an asshole doesn't really mean we aren't friends anymore. At some point, we're going to have to hammer this issue out so we can go on being friends. I press '9' on the phone for a few seconds to release the lobby door and let him in. "Hey, P. Dallas is here and I think he wants to talk about something."

"Want me to disappear into the bedroom?" she asks from the couch where she's been vegging out the past forty-five minutes.

"Do you mind?"

"Nah, I can work on my Roman history paper. Should I pop out and save you in say, twenty minutes?" She flicks the television off and pushes up off the sofa.

"Hopefully not."

A knock on the door signals his arrival. Piper mouths that I should yell if I need her.

I pull the door open to find Dallas bracing himself with one hand against the wall. He looks worn and tired.

"Are you still drunk from last week?"

"I wish." He raises his sunglasses so I get a good look at his bloodshot eyes. "Sorry about the other night."

Finally, an apology. I forgive him immediately. No point in holding grudges, but hopefully he'll tell me what's wrong. Still, I tell him exactly what I thought of his behavior. "It was a shitty thing to do, but you're forgiven."

After all, I got to spend the night with Austin, no matter how chaste it was. And since then I've had my "spa day" with him. No, spa day does not work. The night spent with Austin was not full of zen moments and tinkling wind chimes but of hot, needy, sweaty excitement. I'll need to report to Dez that spa day as a euphemism for sex has to go. "Come on in."

Dallas sort of slumps in, walking heavily as if his joints hurt. He drops into a kitchen chair with a thud and leans back on two legs.

The kitchen set is my favorite piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Piper, Carrie, and I had driven to Miami over Spring Break because that's all we could afford. Halfway there we stopped for lunch at a small-town diner and discovered they were renovating the place, getting rid of their old metal-rimmed tables and vinyl-covered chairs-the ones with the sparkly fabric underneath the plastic coating. We fell in love with them immediately and Piper and Carrie's parents paid to ship them back to our apartment.

The set will be theirs when we graduate, and I don't want Dallas breaking a chair leg before then. I hit him on the back of his head on my way to the microwave.

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?" he yelps. The chair, however, is safely back on all four legs.

"You were leaning back on the chair." I stick my bowl of soup in the microwave and punch in the time. Turning around, I rest my butt against the counter and wait for Dallas to tell me why he's here. Other than to apologize.

He heaves a sigh. "I guess I deserve that."

"You want to tell me what's going on? First, you're a total ass on Tuesday. If you didn't want me to stay at your place, you should have told me." I count off his sins on each finger. "Second, you send me lame 'what's up' texts when you know you should be apologizing. If you don't start talking, I'm calling your mom."

"You got any more soup?" he asks, ignoring my question.

"Third, you're ignoring me even though you're about to eat my food, which is so rude there's probably a picture of you next to the word in the dictionary right this minute."

He waves his hands in surrender. "Yes. Fine, I'll answer whatever you want, just... I need some food."

The microwave beeps, and I carry the soup over to him. "Start talking."

He stirs the beef stew around a few times, as if he can find the answer to his problem when the potatoes and carrots are positioned exactly right.

"Is it that your coach wants to replace you with a new player?"

His head jerks up. "Christ, is it already out?"

My heart squeezes at the pain in his voice "No. No, it isn't. I guessed based on what you said the other night." He gulps, and the look on his face reminds me of the time he showed up on my doorstep when we were ten to tell me his dad was moving out. I say as gently as possible, "Eat your soup, Dallas."

I turn and busy myself with the routine of lunch. All the noises of meal prep-opening the can of soup, dumping it into the bowl, opening the microwave-sound overloud when there's complete silence behind me.

When Dallas does speak, his voice is tight and hard. "The Gators are signing a five-star recruit, ranked number three in the country. He's a quarterback."

"So?" I carry my heated soup over to the table. "You won the National Championship. He can start after you graduate."

"Coach says that I can either move to safety or play backup." His mouth twists into a bitter line. He shuts his eyes, likely wanting this to be a bad dream he wakes from.

I reach over and squeeze his hand. "What do you want to do?"

His eyelids flip open. "I'm the quarterback. I want to stay the quarterback."

"But if you don't move, then you'll be benched, is that right?"

He releases a harsh laugh. "You know what's so ironic? In football, the bench is for starters. You have to earn that place on the bench. No backup, no clipboard Jesus, dares to sit there. Don't know why they call it benched in football."

I let him vent. If he's come here for advice, I don't know what to tell him, what to say. The only thing I can offer is a sympathetic ear. "What's the rest of your team say?"

"Like Moon?" he asks snidely.

I carefully set my spoon by my bowl and remind myself that Dallas is like a wolf with his foot in a trap-hurt and angry. "Like Moon. Like Gavin. Like Elliot. Like all of them, Dallas. You're a team. It's not golf. You can't go off on your own, score a bunch of points, and then be hailed as a winner. You have to play with twenty-one other people in order to prevail."

"Whose side are you on?" His hands fist on the table. He's not hearing anything I'm saying.

"Yours, of course."

"Really?" He stares at me as if he somehow can divine all the dirty thoughts I have about Austin in my head. He leans forward, and there's a look, an expression, that I don't like.

"Dallas-" I say warningly.

He ignores me. The angry part of the wounded animal is taking over. "I'm sure that you think you're qualified to give me advice about sacrifice and the greater good because you're too piss-ass scared to step outside your careful little box you've constructed for yourself, but I want something bigger for myself."

I strive for calm. Dallas is lashing out, saying something he'll regret and apologize for tomorrow. This is nothing.

"I know you're hurting, Dallas, but-"

"Fuck." He rises from the table so fast the chair tips over and soup splashes over the rims of the bowls. "I don't know why I came here. You don't understand. You'll never understand."

He slams the door so hard my jacket falls off the hook.

Piper pokes her head out as soon as the apartment door slams shut.

"What was that all about?"

"Dallas is having a difficult time," I hedge. At the sink, I grab a sponge and start mopping up the mess. "He and the coach are having a disagreement."

"Didn't Dallas just win them a championship?" Piper pitches in without asking. I throw her a grateful look as she holds up the bowls so I can clean underneath them.

"That's what I said, but I guess the coach is thinking about a new direction. Already. And Dallas isn't taking it well."

"I bet he's mad about the Austin thing, too."

"I didn't even get into that," I admit. "He was too angry, and he stomped out of here before I could even bring it up."

"I don't know why you put up with him," Piper mutters.

"Right now? I don't either." My friendship with Dallas started so long ago I can barely remember a time that he wasn't part of my life, but even childhood bonds can get so strained that they break.

"At least tell me that you're still thinking about Austin."

I raise rueful eyes to hers. "I can't stop."

* * *

Austin

Two days later, I've added a second workout to my routine in order to sweat off some of the tension that not fucking is creating. Jerking it at home while I fantasize about Ally isn't working for me. I know what it's like to be inside her, and my dick is treating my hand like I'm betraying it. I remind myself to be patient. She'll come around.

After watching a wedding show one night, I got invited back for a second round of shows, this time a cooking competition. It didn't matter what was on television. We could have been watching Sesame Street and I would've been happy.

Ally's eyes hardly ever stray far from me. I sense she's on the verge of making a decision, and based on the number of times she's invited me over, my guess is that fortune will fall on my side of the scale. Until then, I plan to tire my body out as much as I can.

Judging by the crowded room, it appears quite a few members of the team are feeling a little anxious about the upcoming Signing Day. There are twelve scholarships being offered, and the quality of recruits we're getting at UF is better every year. This year? After we just won the National Championship? After one of our own was on the cover of Sports Illustrated? The national media is watching us, and for a guy who wants to play at the next level, that is influential shit. Everyone wants to be a Warrior.

"Goddammit, Elliot, watch where you're going," Dez chides when Elliot brushes by him as Dez's setting down his weight bar.

"Why don't you get out of the fucking aisle," Elliot mutters.

"I'm standing in the middle of the pad, Ell." Dez points to his feet, which are, to his credit, planted in the center of one of the large mats lining the floor in front of the wall of mirrors.

"You are now," Elliot replies sullenly as he walks away.

The sound of Jeezy's "Seen It All" rocks in the background, punctuated by the grunts of about forty guys. We've got a week until Signing Day and then our asses have to be back in practice.

I spot Dallas and Gavin over in the corner, throwing a weighted medicine ball at each other. Trent and a couple of his boys are doing box jumps. I turn back to Dez, who's still glaring at Elliot's back.

"Taylor Swift it, man," I order.

"What the hell does that mean?"

I shake both my hands. "Shake it off."

"You're spending too much time with the girl squad." Dez leans over to start another rep of squats.

I lie back on the bench and continue my fly exercises. "Gee, sit around in the stench of passed gas and sour beer or watch television with three babes who smell like a candy store and look better than a Vicky's Secret runway show. Can't imagine why I'm hanging out with Ally and her roommates. Admit it, bro. You're sour because they haven't invited you back."

"I think you're being selfish, keeping them to yourself," he whines. "I've got another list I want to run by them. This time I'm working on the top ten foods that look like dildos."

"No. Not happening."

"Okay. How about a list about the euphemisms for a girl's cooch? I'm guessing sausage casing would be out. I can already see the tall blonde screwing up her little nose at me. Say, she dating anyone?"

"Carrie? Nah, I don't think so."

"You oughta hook me up."

"Who's hooking who up?" Rupert asks.

"Austin's girlfriend has two hot roommates. I think one of them should be doing me." Dez takes a break and swallows a half gallon of water.

"Austin, bro, I didn't know you were dating anyone," Rupert says. He leans against the bar above the bench while I glare at Dez. He's going to jinx the whole deal.

"It's early stages yet."

"Is Jace contagious or something?" Rupert asks warily. "I never thought I'd see the day that you'd be dating someone. You're all about one nighters."

Stung, I bark back, "I'm not a poon hound. I haven't dated anyone lately because I hadn't met anyone worth dating."

"Then introduce us."

"No way." I wipe my forehead with a towel. I'm trying to convince Ally that I'm a decent guy worth risking her time and energy on. I bring these yahoos to the party and even though they mean it out of love, I'm already cringing at the types of embarrassing and unsavory stories they'll trot out in an effort to impress her with their not-so-great wit.

"What the fuck, Elliot? I have water up my fucking nose," Dez yelps. When I look up, the rest of Dez's water jug has been emptied over his face and chest. "Watch where you're fucking going!"

I wait for Elliot to apologize but he doesn't. Instead he takes the nearly empty jug, walks calmly over to me and dumps the rest of the contents over my head. I rip the plastic jug out of his hand and wipe myself off, counting silently to ten, before snapping. "What is your problem today? Your jock a little tight after one too many of momma's cookies at Christmas?"

"You fucking defensive players. You think you're so hot. That you won the Championship last year." Elliot leans closer, so close I can smell the meat he had for lunch and it's not good. I shift away. He follows like a dank stalker. "That game that we lost last year. That was you guys fucking up. The offense scored thirty-five points. All you guys had to do was make one stop but instead, you allowed the team to score. A team that we embarrassed the year before. If anyone needs replacing on this team, it ain't Dallas."

I look past him to Dallas, who's standing over in his corner looking smug as fuck. Doesn't he get that this is bad for the team? No matter what happens, we can't be fighting like this.

"Elliot, we're one team. We're not offense or defense. We're one team, and we win and lose based on the team effort." I reach for patience, wondering how in the hell we've come to this point. Not once during last year, even during games the offense managed only a couple scores, did our D grumble about the offense. We all worked hard and that's what mattered. What happened to measuring that? "One team, Elliot." I stand up and punch him in the shoulder. Not as hard as I want, but hard enough for him to know I didn't appreciate my surprise bath. "Save the water for your gut next time."

"If we're really one team, why aren't you standing up for our boy Dallas?" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. Dallas is now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring back at me.

The whole room is staring back at me. Fuck me. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. Can't this team just carry on like it did last year? What difference did it make who was sticking his hands under Elliot's ass? It is the damned defense that carries this fucking team. I take a deep breath before I spew all my shit out onto the weight room floor. Voicing these sentiments might win me favor with the defense, but the stuff I told Elliot was true. We rise and fall as one.

"I'm standing for the team," I tell him. I tell them all. "The Gators stand together. They fight together. Or we lose... together. It's not about one player. It's about all of us."

"Then you don't stand for Dallas. Well, fuck you then." Elliot spits at my shoes.

Dez has had enough. He lunges for Elliot. I can't get up from the bench fast enough to stop the clash. Elliot swings at Dez. Dez goes low and knocks him backward. Rupert throws himself into the mix and soon, it's defense against offense. There's pushing and shoving and fists are flying.

Trent runs from across the room and launches himself, Iron Man-style, onto Elliot's back. Elliot starts swinging the smaller man around like a cape. Visions of weight benches and racks tipping over causing serious injury flash before my eyes like some kind of nightmare on Elm Street, gym version.

I wade in and start throwing guys to the side.

I finally make some headway through the mass of bodies when someone's fist glances off my chin, and I have to take an extra moment to prevent myself from introducing my fist into someone else's face. In the space of that moment, it all goes to hell again until Coach walks in.

He blows the whistle long and hard, and like the trained animals we are, we snap to attention.

"What in tarnation is going on in here?"

I heave Elliot off my chest and stagger to my feet.

No one answers the coach. He eyes Dallas, whose hair is mussed but other than that looks like he wasn't touched. I don't know whether to be impressed that the O-line did its job protecting him even in the weight room or pissed off that his pretty-boy face doesn't have a scratch on it.

"Dallas, care to tell me why in the blue hell half your line is on the floor looking like they're about to host a goddamned Greek orgy?"

Dallas folds his arms across his chest.

Coach turns to me. "How about you, Moon? Got anything to say for yourself?"

 _Nothing you'd like to hear._ I swipe a hand across my mouth. It comes away bloody.

He spits on the floor in disgust. "You two are clowns." He swings around and eyes every player in the room. "Maybe I should replace the whole lot of you. None of you have guaranteed scholarships. You boys better whip yourself into shape real quick or you'll be paying for the rest of your college career instead of enjoying the free ride that Western so kindly provides."

What bullshit. UF gets millions of dollars from us. Our bowl games fund academic scholarships and music shit and art shit that is totally unrelated to football. And Coach? He wouldn't enjoy his three million a year if it weren't for us and our backbreaking efforts. My throat aches from swallowing all those thoughts down.

Still no one stands up to him because he's Coach.

"Dallas, you're the hotshot quarterback. Rein in your boys. And Moon." He turns back to me.

"Yeah?" I know whatever he's going to say I'm not going to like.

"You got a lot to prove this year, and so far you look like your pants are around your ankles. Maybe the defense was good because there was a different leader in the locker room. I guess we'll see this year, won't we?"

I haven't been embarrassed in a long time. Not like this. Now my cheeks burn with the way he's dressed me down, implying I was only good because of Jace. What about my average of thirteen tackles per year? Or the sixteen in the championship game along with the sack at the end? Those count for shit, huh?

I'm going to need to see a dentist from all the grinding of my teeth that I'm doing right now.

Coach isn't even done. "It's fucking embarrassing to walk in on this shit. What if I had a recruit with me? You two start working together or you'll both be holding clipboards come this fall. And that goes for the rest of you yahoos. Get lifting. This isn't some retreat, motherfuckers. This is the home of the goddamned UF Gators. You start acting like the repeat champions or get the fuck out."

He storms out, slamming the door behind him. The room is dead silent. I hadn't even noticed before but someone turned the music off halfway through Coach's rant.

It takes a moment to shove his boot out of our collective asses, but one by one we go back to our tasks. I sneak a glance at Dallas who's glowering in my direction as if I'm to blame for all this.

Dez nudges me. "Dude, you gotta fix this. You're the only one who can."

And by me, he means Ally.

Fuck me, but I think he's right.


	12. Chapter 12

Ally

After years of never seeing him, Austin has been everywhere. He hung out at the apartment, watching our shows without complaint. He sat in Starbucks, drinking hot cider and studying. Sometimes, his friend Dez came with, but more often than not, Austin was alone. He said the smell of coffee was growing on him. Dez whispered loudly that coffee wasn't the only thing growing on Austin.

I presume he meant me and not some terrible fungal infection.

Austin often waited until I was done with my shift and left at the same time. He held the door for me and asked how my day was, whether I've eaten, and how I was feeling.

I mumbled some kind of response under my breath, but hurried away like the coward I professed I wasn't. But I'm afraid to talk to him, afraid that if I look into his eyes, I'll lose all my self-control. Because every time I close my eyes, I see him.

Every night I feel him moving inside of me, over me, under me. The imprint of his hands on my skin, his mouth against my lips, haunts me. One night? I don't know how any woman can be okay with having a single night with Austin Moon.

For the last three days, I've brooded. But I'm done with that. I'm going to jump off the cliff and hope he catches me because he's in my blood now. It may be foolish and reckless, but I know exactly what kind of reward is at the bottom of the canyon.

"Edgar!"

My head snaps up to see the faces of half my mock trial team frowning at me. It takes me a moment to collect myself because I've spent the last ten minutes staring out the window daydreaming about Austin.

"I didn't catch that." I pretend like I was paying attention the whole time.

"I'd like to reserve any remaining time for rebuttal. Is that right?" Elle asks.

"Yeah, that's the right language.

Miles, acting as judge again, nods his head regally. Elle turns to the chairs we've set up as our mock jury. Tonight our practice group consists of just Elle, Miles, and me-we're practicing cross-examinations and arguments. Miles already gave a really amazing opening statement, but Elle's been struggling.

This is the third time she's run through it and each successive attempt is more boring and more pedantic than the last. When she's done after only using five minutes of her allotted eight, Mile's head is lying on the desk and he's mock snoring. No wonder I drifted off. I shift anxiously in my chair. I can't wait to get out of here to tell Austin that I'm ready. Hopefully, the offer is still open.

"What's wrong now?" Elle exclaims. "You told me the closing has to include me listing off all the evidence."

"We don't have time for you to list all the evidence, just the important points. But more importantly, this is argument," I stress, trying to hurry Elle along. "You need to be convincing and persuasive."

"Why don't you do you do it if it's so easy!" Elle stomps past the counsel table and throws herself into a desk chair.

"Elle, come back. I'm sorry if I was too critical." _How about you grow a thicker skin?_ I want to say, but I bite my tongue. She appears on the verge of tears, and the last thing I want to do is destroy her confidence.

"Why don't you show her?" Miles suggests. "Just do a quick closing."

"I don't do closings," I remind him.

"But you're okay with criticizing the hell out of mine," Elle shouts.

I shut my eyes and count to ten so I don't leap out of my chair and throttle her. I can do a closing if that's what she needs. I do them in my sleep. I just can't do them in a competition.

"Come on," Miles cajoles.

"Fine." I stand up and take Elle's abandoned spot in front of the chairs. If I do this, we can all leave.

"May it please the Court." I gesture toward Miles. "Opposing counsel." I pretend Elle is the attorney for the other side, which is easy because I feel we're oceans apart on the concept of an effective closing. "Members of the jury." I face the chairs. "We have asked you to sacrifice a day out of your life, and your sacrifice does not go unappreciated. One of the greatest strengths of our legal system is that we are allowed to bring our disputes before a jury of our peers. No matter how thin our wallets are, no matter our position in society, under the eyes of Lady Justice, we are all the same. We thank you for what you have done today and what you will do on behalf of our client, Sun Hee."

"Do I really have to go through all of that?" Elle interrupts. "Because I could thank everyone in one sentence. Yo, peeps, thanks for your attention. Here's why you should find in our favor."

I grit my teeth. "No, Elle. You do not have to go through all of that. Do it your own way. Make it your own, but sell the jury on the fact that you are truly grateful for their presence here. We don't want them pissed off."

"Fine." She imperiously waves her wand. "Go ahead."

Miles bangs his pencil against the desk. "Proceed, counsel."

"Thanks." I scowl at both of them. I take a deep breath, gather my thoughts and pick up where I left off. "In the Old Testament, the Jewish people were required to sacrifice a lamb for their sins on a yearly basis. But the lamb that was chosen was special. It had to be a lamb with the nicest wool, the best-looking hooves, the clearest eyes, and the strongest gait. It was, after all, a stand-in for the Lord and therefore must be as perfect as a human-raised lamb could be."

Miles and Elle are watching my every move now, hanging on every word. I hide a smile of confidence. This story gets people every time.

"The leaders were charged with picking out the lamb, and once chosen, the tribe would cast their sins upon the back of that lamb, that perfect creature. They would confess their cheating, their envy, their blasphemies, and then the leaders would drive that blameless lamb out into the wilderness. It is from that practice we derive the word 'scapegoat.'"

Elle sucks in a breath, and I give her a nod of acknowledgment. This is how you do it. A movement in the back of the room catches my attention. My eyes widen at the sight of Austin. With a tip of his head, he silently asks if it's okay that he's here. _Is it?_ I ask myself. Why not? It's not like he's judging me.

I turn back to the fake jury, but my attention is still on the back of the room. I can feel his eyes on me as I spread my hands and once again argue for my client. "Ms. Sun Hee is the scapegoat for IMC. They designed, produced, and assembled a faulty ice resurfacing machine. Instead of accepting responsibility for this, they want to place the blame on Ms. Sun Hee, citing operator failure, but the evidence clearly shows that even if Ms. Sun Hee operated the machine perfectly, the brakes still would have malfunctioned, she still would have been injured, and we would still be here today asking for the same thing-for IMC to be brought to justice. At the beginning of the trial, my co-counsel told you we would prove these three things." I lift the demonstrative aid identifying the elements of our charge. "And we did. Allow me to revisit a few of the highlights."

I tick off each element, reminding the fake jury of the key bits of testimony and documentary evidence such as the co-worker who described the previous problems with the machine, the company paperwork that revealed internal concerns about the braking mechanism. Miles starts giving me the wind-up motion. Shoot, eight minutes goes by so fast when you're having fun.

"Sun Hee came to you in pieces. She broke her leg, lost her job, her house. Her car was repossessed. You can't make her completely well again. She'll always have that limp. But by finding in her favor, you can give her new wings. Thank you."

Loud, slow clapping booms from the rear of the room. I duck my head in slight embarrassment, but I am proud of what I did. It felt good too.

I stop by my table and address Elle. "So, something like that. Start with a catchy opening, recite the elements of the law. Hit the key points of our case and close with an emotional appeal."

"Gotcha," Elle replies with wide eyes.

I busy myself with the papers on the table to hide how pleased I am that she's finally looking at me as if I'm not the weakest link in this group, that I can actually contribute.

"I think we're done." Miles' voice is gentle, but filled with affection. He knows how much this means to me.

Gratefully, I gather up my stuff and fly to Austin.

"The jury finds the defendant not guilty," he says instantly.

I grin stupidly. "It's not that kind of trial, but thank you."

He hugs me and leans down to give me a soft kiss on the lips. "How about we celebrate the verdict with some food?"

 _How about we celebrate with some you?_ I swallow back the naughty words. Instead I say, "That sounds wonderful."

* * *

Austin

After watching Ally make the closing argument, I'm convinced of two things. First, there's no one better than her to convince Dallas to move to safety. And second, why in the hell is she pawning this task off on Elle? The other guy had it right. That Elle girl's good at curing insomnia but not much else.

"Jesus, that was good. I think you could sell baseballs to a football equipment manager. Here, these round balls are much faster than those oblong pigskins you're using." I hold out my hand, pretending to present a ball.

"Plus, no pesky deflation problems," Ally grins.

I snort. "Why aren't you doing this for your team? I mean, if that was practice, just off-the-cuff argument, you must be mind-blowing in competition."

Her grin immediately falls off, and her shoulders hunch up. "It's actually the reverse. I'm good in practice, good when it doesn't matter, but during competition? When something is actually on the line? I suck hard."

"I can't see it. After watching you back there," I jerk my head behind us to the practice room, "I just can't envision you being anything but awesome."

Dez is right. Ally is my best option.

"Thanks, but it's true." She takes a deep breath. "The summer before I came to college, I prepped for weeks for the mock trial tryouts. I wanted to be a lawyer. I'd spent four years in high school mock trial. Had a pre-law track all set out in front of me. I killed my tryout."

"I'm guessing the story doesn't end happily?" I take her hand and tuck it into my jacket pocket as we walk out of the room.

"Not once in the fifteen-year history of mock trial club here at UF had it fielded a winning team. We've never made it out of Regionals, let alone to a national tournament. After my tryout, everyone was convinced that I was the closer they'd been looking for. So we were at Regionals and we were slaying it. Miles delivered an awesome opening, and I nailed their expert on cross. Caught him making up facts that weren't in the packet. I was so excited for the closing. So excited."

Her eyes are gleaming in remembrance, but I know it's not going to end well, so I brace myself. From what she's revealed before, it's not hard to guess what happens next.

"When I stand up to give the closing, I can't remember a thing. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. It's eight minutes of total silence. Do you know what that sounds like? What it feels like? It sounds like death and feels worse." She looks pale, as if her mind-and her confidence-are back in that mock courtroom, suffocating under the weight of silence. "Closings aren't for me," she says in a shaky voice.

And neither are risks. I get it now, better than I ever did before. Being with Ally these past couple of weeks has showed me how rigidly she has to monitor herself. What she eats, what she drinks. I don't blame her for being cautious. The one time she took a step outside her comfort zone, she was humiliated. It's burned into her psyche.

Success in sports is almost entirely mental. The best quarterbacks have terrible short-term memory. You have to forget your mistakes or be paralyzed by them. Ally hasn't moved on from that. Still... it says a lot about her that she didn't quit on the team entirely.

"You're tough. Anyone else would have quit and run away."

"I love it too much," she admits. "Like you love football."

"I do." I hesitate, gulping hard.

"What's wrong?"

I grip her hand tightly. I'm afraid of how she's going to react and I feel, foolishly maybe, that if I'm still holding her at the end of this, we'll be okay.

"I hate coming to you like this. I really do, but you're my last resort."

 _Is she really?_ My conscience chides me. You haven't really done anything to smooth this over with the team. But Ally is clearly made for persuading people. It's in her blood. She might not be able to do it in competition but one-on-one? She'd be able to persuade someone to willingly walk the plank. And hell, maybe she'd even want to do this. After all, Dallas is her friend. She wants him to succeed, right?

"I really think you're the only one who can do this."

"What is it?" she asks warily.

We've reached her apartment. I draw her to the side, away from the center sidewalk and down toward the empty parking lot.

"There was a fight in practice today."

"Oh no. Is that where you hurt your lip?" Her fingers come up to touch the corner of my mouth. "Dallas wasn't an ass to you, was he? He's going through something right now."

I nod grimly. "I'm fine. Dallas is fine. Physically, that is."

Her face falls. "Physically? Did the coach talk to him again?"

"You know then? He told you about the QB thing?"

"Yeah."

"We weren't supposed to tell anyone outside the team," I answer, but even though Dallas was supposed to keep his mouth shut, I'm relieved she already knows the general gist of the situation.

She shrugs. "Dallas doesn't really think the rules apply to him, and besides, it wasn't like I was going to ESPN with this or anything."

"Right." I exhale heavily. "The situation is grim. I need to say something, ask you something really important."

Her face pales under the harsh glare of the apartment's floodlights. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

I try to think of the most positive spin on this that I can. "I'm only bringing this to you because I think it's right." Although I don't know what's right other than if our team keeps fighting like we did this afternoon, we'll be a basket case this fall, and we'll be lucky to win half our games, let alone make another run at the title. "You can say no, and I understand if you don't want to hear this, but... I'd like you to make the case for Dallas as a safety."

"No," she says immediately and turns away, but not before I see the hurt in her eyes.

My stomach falls somewhere around my boots, but I've started down this path and I might as well see it to the end.

"What if I told you that I want Dallas to succeed?" I ask.

"So?"

"So this isn't just about me wanting to win another title. I want that, but I'll admit I'm not as hungry as I was before. A repeat is great, but my aims and goals are different now, and I bet that's true for Dallas. Only he's not seeing it clearly because all he sees is embarrassment from losing his position."

"I don't really care." She pulls away again. Hard, and I finally feel compelled to let her go.

I don't like that she's so far away from me, but I'm afraid if I step toward her, she'll run inside and that will be the end of it. I grab the back of my neck but my anxiety doesn't subside. "You know what the Heisman is, right?"

She nods. "The trophy given to the best college football player each year."

"Do you know how many Heisman-winning quarterbacks fail in the NFL or don't even get drafted? There have been seventy-seven winners and a third have been quarterbacks. Combined, they don't have a winning record in the NFL. College success doesn't translate to pro success for most quarterbacks. Dallas won with us, but it was a team effort. In the pros, he'll be exposed. If I were told that I was too small, too slow for my position but that I could have a shot in the pros if I played a different position, I'd move in a heartbeat. What do you think Dallas wants?"

Dallas wants to play in the pros, no question.

"You know what he wants."

Yeah, she knows him.

"Right. I do. Have you heard of Scott Frost?"

"No, doesn't ring a bell."

I take a step toward her. Just a small one. I'm not trying to intimidate her; I want to convince her that this is the right thing for everyone. "He led his Nebraska team to a National title over Peyton Manning and the Tennessee Volunteers. He had a record of twenty-four and two when he graduated. Despite his extremely successful college career as a quarterback, he was drafted in the third round and played safety in the NFL. You've heard of Tim Tebow, right?"

"Who hasn't?"

Her responses are terse, but she's still here, so I barrel forward. "Lots of folks have said Tebow would be playing in the NFL if he'd only move to tight end. He's big and athletic but has a shit arm and shit throwing mechanics."

Not unlike someone else we know. I don't say Dallas' name explicitly, but we both know who I'm talking about. "But Tebow wouldn't move. He was too damn stubborn. It was QB or bust. And for him? It's bust. He'll never play in the NFL again. Julian Edelman with the Patriots was a college QB. Eric Crouch won the Heisman in 2001 as a quarterback for Nebraska. He played safety and wide receiver in the NFL, but because he wanted to play quarterback, he ended up in the Canadian Football League. Never came back to the NFL."

"You're saying that Dallas has a better chance of being a pro if he moves," she sums up flatly.

"That's what I'm saying." I nod with relief, feeling as if I've made a breakthrough.

"It's still no."

My relief fades. "You won't even consider it?"

Ally's brown eyes flicker with annoyance. "No, I won't. Because it doesn't matter how solid your case is, or how well researched your facts are. Let me ask you this, if you were defending a murder suspect and needed to put a character witness on the stand, would you call up the sister of the guy your client is accused of killing?"

I see where she's going with this, but she doesn't even give me a chance to answer.

"Of course you wouldn't! Because you know the witness's loyalty lies elsewhere." Ally takes a breath. "Dallas can be an asshole. He drives me crazy sometimes. But he's like a brother to me, and I'll always have his back. If he wants to keep being quarterback, then I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't support that decision, even if it's not the right one."

"Alls-"

"I told you, Austin. It's. A. No." She turns away.

Okay. It's a no. I knew it would be a no. I always knew it, which is why I'd been putting it off, but after today I had to try. What else could I do?

"Where are you going?" I ask, hurrying to match my strides with hers.

She halts abruptly. "I won't do it."

"I heard you." I place a tentative hand at the low of her back. Through her puffy coat, I swear I can feel the heat of her body. "And honestly, I respect it. It's rare to come across that kind of loyalty these days."

"Is this a trick?" she asks suspiciously.

"No."

"You're just going to accept my no?"

"I have to, don't I?"

She ponders that for a moment, her brows scrunched together in confusion. "Then why do you have your hand on my coat?"

I look down at her in disbelief. Is she really that clueless? Under the heat of my stare, she blushes.

"I had to get the Dallas thing out of the way. It would have bothered you like a pebble in your shoe if I hadn't." I don't know that for sure, but their connection sure as hell bothers me.

Ally wrinkles her nose. "Not really. I think I could have gone a long time without hearing your litany of failed quarterbacks."

"Doubtful. As a bonus, next time you play a trivia game in the bar, you'll have a few obscure answers."

I can barely see any of her body wrapped up in that silver, puffy monstrosity, but I still want her.

"Because that's what I do with my time at the bar, play sports trivia games."

"What do you do at a bar?"

She shrugs. "Drink, talk, dance."

"Ask me what my second reason was for coming to your practice tonight."

Her eyes meet mine, and this time there's not a hint of confusion or embarrassment or shyness. Warmth heats my blood. "Why'd you come to practice tonight?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about you. I keep tasting you on my tongue. I keep feeling you under my hands. I look at you next to me on the sofa when we're watching TV and I can barely keep myself from attacking you."

"Do you think I'm a pushover?" she asks unexpectedly.

"Hell no." I huff a small laugh. The woman has a steel-trap memory and doesn't mind throwing things back in my face. Does she really think she's a pushover? She's so far from it, I'm surprised the word is even in her vocabulary. "Or you'd be at Dallas' place talking him into the switch."

"Right." She sounds surprised at herself. "I did say no, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Don't bring up the Dallas thing again," she tells me. "Or I can't do this between us."

"I swear it." I make an X across my chest.

"Then come upstairs."

I nearly fall to my knees in relief. Then I take my own risk because I want to wrap myself around her all night. "How about my place? Your bed can't fit the two of us. I'd like you to spend the night."

It's a risk that pays off because she says yes.

* * *

We talk about nothing on the walk to my house. The weather. I think it's unseasonably warm. She's wrapped up in her sleeping bag she swears is a coat. Underneath our meaningless chatter, the tension is ratcheting up.

I'm hard from the casual brush of her arm against mine. I start breathing heavily when she combs her fingers through her hair. I clench my fingers inside my pockets so I don't drag her into the nearest corner and do her right there.

"Want something to eat? Drink?" I ask when we get to the house.

"I'm good. You hungry? Feeling faint?" she says with a slight tone of mockery.

Okay, I get it. But I can't help it. I care for this girl.

"I'm hungry all right. Ravenous even." I know what I want to be eating and it's not in the kitchen.

"Me, too."

I close my eyes and thank God. Ally gives a small laugh, and at that happy sound, I kind of lose it. I haul her into my arms and run up to my bedroom. Good thing no one comes out of their rooms, because I would have mowed them down.

Once inside my room, I let her feet drop to the floor, but I don't let her go. We tackle our own clothes, too anxious to be skin to skin. Her coat falls to the ground. I whip my T-shirt over my head. She tugs her jeans down; I tear at my own pants. In between garments, we grab each other for a hungry kiss until finally, nothing's between us. It's just her smooth, perfect skin against my hard, rough body.

"Christ, I need you." I nip at her mouth, kiss her cheek, lick the delicate shell of her ear all the while palming every curve I can get my hands on; her shoulders, her tits, her round, delicious ass. That ass.

I spin her around and drop to my knees. "Bend over." The command comes out harsher than I intend, but Ally doesn't hesitate. She turns and bends at the waist, resting her arms on the surface of my desk.

"Tell me your favorite part of what we've done so far. Is it the fucking? Or do you like it when I'm going down on you?"

She moans a little, half in embarrassment, half in desire. "Why do you have to talk so much?"

I smile to myself and rub both hands over the plump cheeks, holding them up so I can sink my teeth into one and then the other. This time the sound she makes is definitely a lusty one.

"Because I like it, and I think you do, too. Let me tell you how this is going to work. I'm going to eat you out, then I'm going to slap on a rubber and fuck you until you're coming so hard you can't stand up. You let me know if there's any part of this plan you don't like."

She mumbles something and squirms a small amount but doesn't utter one word of disagreement. I spread her legs farther apart and dive in because I wasn't lying when I told her I was ravenous. For days now, I've been thinking about having this pussy against my mouth again.

She squeaks in surprise and then rises slightly on her tiptoes, as if trying to escape. I clamp an arm around her waist and hold her tight against my onslaught. She trembles like a leaf in an autumn storm, held in place by my arm and tongue.

My cock is hard as a spike, angry at being left out of the party, but the rest of me is enjoying eating her out too much to stop. There's something addicting about her. Above me, Ally is making a dozen different moans and gasps, pleas to God and for me to s _top, no don't stop, there, right there, Right. There._

I slip my hand around to the front so I can get a thumb on her sensitive clit, making her stiffen and then lose control over her limbs. I catch her before she falls, surging forward to drive into her in one swift, demanding gesture.

The throb of her orgasm feels wild against my dick, her honey coating every inch of my shaft. The soft grip of her pussy is otherworldly. I'd give up everything for this, for her. Football, fame, glory, money. None of it can compare.

Her head falls back, those long, beautiful strands of hair sticking to the side of her face, falling over my shoulder. I grip her jaw until we're kissing. The angle's awkward, my legs are shaky as fuck, but I want this joining, too.

She wraps an arm around my neck and hangs on, clinging to me as if I'm the only safe thing in a wild and dangerous world. I clutch her just as tight, driving forward with all the power in my legs to make sure she feels it, not just today but for hours, days afterward. When she's sitting in class or standing in Starbucks serving up coffee, the vibrations will still echo between her legs. She'll remember my tongue ravaging her mouth, my hands on her boobs, my broad body covering her back.

"This feels good, doesn't it, Ally? You shuddering around me. I'm so hard right now. It's difficult for me not to come. I want to, but I'm not gonna. Not until I feel you cream all over my dick like you came on my tongue."

She shudders but doesn't tell me to shut up as she usually does. I sweep my hand up to her neck. She's delicate under my rough hands, callused from the hours spent lifting, slapping at the tackling dummy, bashing against the offensive line. Delicate, tender, soft. All those things I'm not, and it makes me feel powerful, like the small "g" god I joke to her that I am.

But she's not weak. She grinds down on me, reminding me how effortlessly she's captured me and made me hers. No matter that I'm bigger and stronger, I'm putty in her hands. Malleable clay for her to shape in whatever way she desires because I'd do anything for her.

Her body tightens, and the telltale flutters of her pussy signal the arrival of her orgasm. This feels different. Hotter, deeper, more erotic.

I'm five strokes in before I realize why I can feel every tiny flutter and twitch of her pussy. I'm barebacking her. Shit, I haven't had sex without a condom ever. I've never lost it so much that I've forgotten to put one on, no matter how horny or drunk I've been in the past.

I freeze and start to pull out, but she moans her unhappiness.

"Ally, I'm not wearing a condom."

She doesn't push me away. Instead she pushes back against me, her plush ass cheeks slamming against my thighs and groin. "Just... just pull out."

"I'm taking care of you. No risk on my end," I growl into her ear. She nods faintly and that's all the permission I need.

I push her forward and cover her, plunging so deep and so hard she has to put out a hand to prevent being driven into the wall. The heavy wood desk scrapes against the floor as I power into her, stroke after stroke. She sobs into the desktop, and when my own release threatens to swamp me, I reach around to find her clit, squeezing and rolling that nub between my fingers until she tightens and then explodes around me.

I almost lose it then, almost bust it inside her, but I manage to pull out and spray my come all over her trembling, gorgeous ass. I've marked her and now she's mine. With regret and the exertion of the last bit of energy I have left, I grab my shirt off the floor and wipe her off. She jerks when I dab between her legs, and I may have rubbed some of my spunk into her skin rather than cleaning her entirely.

Tossing the shirt to the side, I gather her into my arms and stumble to the bed.

"What are we doing?" she asks.

I pull a blanket up over our bodies. "We're enjoying each other."

"For how long?"

Forever is a good start in my book, but this is my careful girl, and she needs a careful answer. "However long you want it."

Her answer is a contented sigh that fills me with an inexplicable amount of satisfaction. It occurs to me that I don't remember being this happy even when I hoisted the championship trophy, and that doesn't bother me one bit.


	13. Chapter 13

Ally

"You don't work today, right?"

"It's Friday, right?" It's hard to concentrate these days.

"All day, Alls."

I shiver when he uses the nickname. "Then no. Not until tomorrow."

"And your last class is over at..."

"One," I fill in.

"I'll meet you outside your apartment at one-thirty then."

"For what?"

"It's a surprise. Wear layers. I have a black Land Rover. See you then."

He disconnects before I can muster a response. I pull the phone away from my ear. "Sure, I'd love to go to your little surprise. Thanks for asking," I tell the phone. But was I going to refuse? No, and Austin knew that.

I text Carrie to let her know our walk is off.

 _Me: No walk today._

 _Carrie: ?_

 _Me: Going somewhere with Austin._

 _Carrie: !_

I can see her high-fiving herself.

 _Carrie: Piper and I were on the verge of sending you to 1C for shock therapy._

 _Me: Thanks for nothing._

 _Carrie: You're welcome. We're the best roommates ever._

 _Me: You're my only roommates._

 _Carrie: Also best ever._

 _Me: If you say so._

But I'm smiling when I pocket my phone because she's right. I do have the best roommates ever.

Wear layers, he'd said. Given that it's still winter, my guess is we're doing something outside. I find a tight-fitting pair of yoga pants, a long-sleeved thermal shirt and top that with a sweater. My long coat will keep my legs warm, and when I run out of my apartment at 1:30 p.m. Austin's already there, leaning against his big black SUV, legs and arms crossed, looking delectable. I'm not the only one who thinks so. The girls from 1C are walking home from class and can't seem to take their eyes off of him.

But Austin doesn't spare them a glance. When he spots me, he pushes away from the truck and strides over to embrace me. Not just embrace me, but cup my head and plant a deep, hungry kiss against my lips that leaves me breathless and needy.

"Let's go upstairs and count how many condoms are left," I tell him when he lets me go.

He grins but shakes his head. "Nope. We're going skating. We'll do the condom thing later."

"Skating?"

"Yeah, roller-skating." He makes a downward gesture with his hand that I suppose simulates skating. "Come on." He tugs me forward excitedly.

"I haven't roller-skated ever," I admit after we're buckled in. Austin points the SUV toward the east side of town.

"Then this will be fun. I'll even spring for food."

"You big spender, you."

He winks. "You know it."

"Why skating?"

"It's less risk-" His voice catches on the word. Our eyes meet, mine filled with humor and his with surprise. He clears his throat. "Less risky than ice skating. I don't want to break a leg and screw up my season."

I smirk. "So weighing the risks. That's a sound thing to do. I guess I'm not so weird, after all."

Austin shakes his head but can't keep his own smile from breaking through. "Never thought you were weird, Alls." He reaches over and grabs my hand and settles it on his thigh.

It takes twenty minutes to arrive at the roller skating place.

He neatly swings into a parking space near the edge of the lot and hops out. He takes my hand again, and we walk up to the rental booth to pay for admission and our skates.

We spend two hours skating, well... attempting to skate. Austin kept laughing at me whenever I fell on my butt. Finally, we decide to call it an afternoon.

"Come on, let's try too soothe that great ass of yours, Alls," he says after returning the skates.

Our stomaches rumble and we decide to go to a small concession stand, where Austin buys us hot dogs and water. There aren't any tables, so we wander down toward a wooded area and settle in out of the wind that's picking up. I watch him gulp down the hotdog in three bites before asking, "What's with the nicknames?"

"Nicknames are important. Feel free to pick one out for me. I can provide a list of suggestions. Big Guy. God. Master. Awesome Master."

He finishes the hotdog and goes to pay for another, so he doesn't see me roll my eyes.

"How about overweening ego?" I offer when he returns.

"Not my favorite. All kidding aside, names reveal a lot. Your name says something about your parents. How'd they come up with Ally Edgar Dawson?" He squirts ketchup on his hotdog. I take a bite of mine before answering.

"I'd like to believe that my parents were too shocked when they picked out Edgar as my middle name."

"Ha, my middle name is Monica."

"Who was the one who came up with Monica?"

"Probably my mom. None of the guys on the team know it except my close friends Jace and Dez. And Jace's girlfriend, Trish, because Jace is whipped as fuck and tells her everything."

"So what else do names reveal?"

"Professors want us to use their last names to create distance and authority. Nicknames imply a certain closeness or familiarity. You can use a person's first name as a weapon, too, to imply that you're in a position of power."

I can feel my mouth open slightly in surprise. "This is pretty interesting stuff. Was this in a class?"

He looks down at his boot and even in the dimming light, I can see a faint hint of pink on the tops of his cheeks that's not because of the wind.

"I learned it in a book."

"A Ludlum book?"

He kicks the heel of his boot against the ground as if trying to shake off the snow but I can see he's faintly embarrassed. "Nah, I read stuff about profiling. When I'm done in the NFL, I'd like to join the Feds."

"FBI?"

He nods.

"That's very cool."

He's really blushing now, and it's beyond cute. I don't know why. Having plans for after football seems smart to me, but maybe this dream is one that he's uncomfortable talking about. I'm rather touched he's sharing it with me. "When do you think you'll be done with football?"

"Ten? Fifteen years if I'm really lucky. I kind of view my life in two stages. Football is stage one. I've got to be careful," we share a smile when he uses that word one of mine, "and watch what I eat, work out a ton, and spend time on the road. Take a lot of physical abuse. Stage two is where I don't necessarily watch what I eat, work out less, take only a little physical abuse, and use my brain more."

Austin and I aren't that different, after all. He does his own risk assessments. He's careful in his own way. He's nothing like my mother. He's his own person. A wonderful, genuine, smart, and sexy as hell person. I smile at him, the edges of that curve so high the corners of my lips feel like they are up to my eyeballs. I like him so much.

"You're sure you'll be drafted?"

"Yes." No false modesty here, only genuine confidence. "Not as high as our last captain, but by the second round I think. And once I'm on the team, I'm not giving up my position to anyone."

"I believe you."

"Yeah?" He reaches over and grabs my hand.

I squeeze him back. "Yeah."

"And what about you?"

"Post college?" My hand's still in his as we sip our drinks. Neither of us is in a hurry to let go.

"I figured you were in pre-law or something and that you wanted to be a lawyer, but you're doing this public policy thing?"

A little pang plucks at my heart, but I push it aside. What's done is done. "I thought I wanted to be one, too, but I'm kind of bad at something lawyers need to excel at."

"What's that?" He looks confused as if he can't imagine me being bad at anything.

"I'm not good at thinking on my feet. I tend to freeze up, and that pretty much moves me outside the lawyer framework."

"You seemed pretty awesome the other night."

"It's because all of that was prepared. I have a pretty good memory. I heard it once and I can regurgitate it, but in a competition? No." Again, the dark cloud creeps in, threatening my good mood. "Anyway, I changed my focus with the help of my advisor. I can still do a lot of reviewing of facts and then rearranging them into consumable bits of information."

"So you can't go to law school anymore?"

"Oh no, I could. Pre-law is just a track. You could have any major-even sociology."

"Law school doesn't interest me, and if it doesn't interest you anymore, that's cool. But for the record, I think you're pretty damned amazing in your mock trial thingy."

My cheeks heat up under his praise.

He scoots closer, until one long leg is pressed against mine. I can't feel the cold anymore. "It occurs to me that I used your risk assessments more often than I realized in the past."

"How so?"

"I used to think dating was a risk. That it'd either take away from football or I'd end up treating someone badly."

"What made you change your mind?"

"You. I think the reward of you is worth the risk."

My heart flips over and then cheers as his mouth descends on mine. We kiss leisurely, as if it's summer and we're on the beach and the sun is baking us into the sand. It's a hot and lazy kiss and heats us better than any summer sun.

"I'm ready to count the condoms in that box now," he says huskily.

"Me, too." Then I jump up and run for the Rover with Austin hot on my heels.

He starts the engine, and then we have to sit for a minute for the car to warm up. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair looks wild and messy, not dissimilar to how he looks when he first wakes up in the morning.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean across the center console. "Why are you so goddamned attractive?"

"I'm sorry?" He smiles, clearly not one bit apologetic.

"Shut up and kiss me."

He's still smiling when he cups his hand around my skull and pulls me against him. I can feel of the curve of his lips as they soften, part, and then open for me.

This time I'm the one devouring him. He tastes fresh and clean. His hand drops to my ass and drags me onto his seat so we can get a better, deeper angle for kissing. His tongue and lips force me to open wider for him. He kisses me deep and hard until I feel it everywhere. His kiss is in the throb between my legs, in the tingle on my fingertips, in the tightness of my skin.

I rip at his T-shirt, pulling it up out of his jeans. His skin is warm against the cold of my palms. His little nipples tighten up when I pass over them. I give them a little tweak like he does to me. He chuckles and then his hands glide under my sweater and tank to release my bra strap and grip my aching breasts in his hands.

Straddling him, I grind down to find the right pressure to alleviate the ache between my legs, but it's difficult because we have so many layers between us. It doesn't stop me from trying to find relief against his body.

I whimper because my need is so strong.

Austin shushes me. "It's okay, Alls, I've got you."

With the hand at my back, he slips under my leggings, my thermals. His callused palm sweeps over the curve of my butt, and his long fingers pierce my aching sex in one driving, satisfying motion. The cold is a shock to my system. I can't help from crying out.

Austin dips his head and latches on to a nipple. I clutch his head to my chest and ride his fingers. Thank God he has big hands because those thick fingers inside of me are almost as good as his big hot cock.

And if it isn't enough, this illicit car sex in the darkened corner of the amusement parking lot, he starts talking.

"You are so wet and juicy." His fingers stab at me. My toes curl. It's a toss up whether I want to ride them or just sit and enjoy the fullness of it. "I love being inside of you. It's so good, Ally. You feel so good." He moves to the other nipple, leaving the abandoned one wet and sensitive. "One of these days, we're fucking in front of mirror because you need to see how gorgeous you look right now."

He tugs on one lock of my hair. "Lean down and give me your mouth. I need to taste you."

I drop forward and claim his mouth, sucking in his tongue as if it were his shaft.

He ravages me. There's no other word for it. His mouth lays waste to mine. I can't breathe. I can't think. I forget where I am. There's only Austin and the feel of his fingers working my sex, his hand gripping my waist too tight, his big body surrounding me and keeping me safe.

"I want you to come so hard you're shaking. That you can't even breathe." he tells me, pushing me back again. "I love the feel of you gripping my fingers. Your pussy is so tight. Do you know that? Do you have any idea of how good that feels?"

"It's good," I pant. "So good."

"I wish we had class together. We'd sit in the back, and I'd pull up your skirt and play around a little until your panties were soaked. I'd take my index finger and slowly rub your lips until they were nice and plump." He pulls out and demonstrates. "I wouldn't hurry it along." _God, why not_ , I think. I can't be any more on edge than I am now.

"Back inside." I gasp out the order. "I need your fingers back inside of me."

"Like this?" He shoves them in hard, this time it's three of them. I shriek at the pure pleasure.

He adds a thumb down the front of my pants, and I come like a rocket. When I float back out of the clouds, down to earth, I find that I've two chunks of Austin's hair in either hand, and I'm suffocating him against my chest. I slowly force myself to release him, gently brushing his hair back into place and rearranging the mess I've made of his clothes. He grins the whole time.

"You like that?"

I nod. "Best skating trip ever." I reach down between us to cup his gigantic hard-on. "Let's get home so I can take care of you."

He licks his lower lip. "Best after-skating trip coming up."


	14. Chapter 14

Ally

The following Friday, I wake up to the sound of the shower. Austin is gone, but the bed is still warm. The sheets are an utter disaster, and I don't know how I fell asleep on them because that kind of messiness drives me nuts.

Oh right, Austin fucked me into unconsciousness.

I stretch a bit and revel in the soreness of rarely used muscles. I wouldn't have to do my daily walk today because I've had enough exercise to last three days, at least.

Piper and Carrie have declared that Austin's good for me, and I won't deny that I've never been happier. These past couple of weeks have been a revelation. I thought dating Austin would be hard, but it isn't. Despite school, work, and mock trial, there's always time for each other. And it's a relief that he's as busy as I am.

In fact, starting next Tuesday, he'll be even busier because spring practice starts. When he said he'd do all the work and I just had to enjoy the rewards, he wasn't kidding.

The only thorn is Dallas. He finally apologized, but he did it via text. I'm sorry for him, but I'm not going to be his punching bag. When he's ready to be an adult, I'll talk to him. Until then, he'll have to stew in his own juices.

I want to stay here in bed, wrapped up in the warmth of Austin's body and the scent of us together. In fact, if I close my eyes tight enough, I can even conjure up a slow-motion replay of my favorite part of last night. I think it might have been at his desk where he bent me over and took me from behind, all the while whispering dirty things in my ear.

Lord, that boy has a mouth on him.

"That's a smug sex smile if I've ever seen one."

I flick my eyes part way open to see Austin strolling out of the bathroom using his towel to dry his hair. His dick hangs free between his legs looking quite delectable.

I give him a lazy smile as he pulls on a pair of sleep pants. "Don't worry, babe. You're playing a starring role in my fantasies."

"I'd be worried if I wasn't, that would mean I'm not doing a very good job of rule number one, which is to make sure you have a damn good time."

"If I had a better time, I might not be conscious."

Concern immediately falls over his face. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling pretty awesome, thanks."

"Good." He presses a knee into the side of the bed. "I'm going downstairs to get something to eat." I make a motion to get up, but he presses me back. "I've got this."

I allow him to leave, then heave myself out of bed. On Austin's desk there's a folder, a notebook, and some papers lying on the floor. We must have knocked them off in our haste to undress.

I stoop down and gather everything up. The notebook's partly open and I take a quick peek. In it is a list of plays. Various offensive schemes. I chuckle a bit. Austin's a serious student but his number one topic is football. Which makes sense. We're all studying so we can get a job out in the real world, and Austin's working toward a potential multimillion-dollar-a-year job after college. It shouldn't surprise me his primary focus is football.

I stack the loose papers on top of the notebook and grab the folder. I pick it up by the wrong end and the contents flutter out.

"Crap." I'm making a bigger mess than what I started with. As I'm gathering the stuff, I spot my name on one of the papers. An awful sensation starts churning in my stomach. With trembling fingers, I pick the paper up. Two notebook sheets with precise printing-the kind you see on architectural drawings-are headed with my name in big block letters. I scan it. It lists my major, where I work. That I have two roommates.

I'm only bringing this to you because I think it's right.

My work schedule at Starbucks is printed out. Wednesdays, Thursdays, five to close. Saturdays, open to noon. All of my classes are listed as well.

 _Ally Edgar Dawson, junior._

 _Major: Public Policy_

 _Job: Starbucks_

 _Extracurricular: Mock Trial_

I rip open the folder, but the only thing in it is a sticky note with seven scrawled names. I nearly vomit when I make out the first one. It's a guy from the Sigma Chi frat that I hooked up with in my freshman year. Four other names are either of boyfriends I had or hookups. Two I don't know.

I look down at my body with horror. I'm wearing Austin's shirt. The shirt of some guy who has spent weeks romancing me for no apparent reason. Just out of the blue, a guy who hates coffee, shows up at the coffee house. Flirts with me. Follows me.

I tear the shirt off, my tears wetting the fabric as I struggle to get it off me. I can't stop crying. The water drips out of my eyes and splashes onto the paper, smearing the ink but the words are all embedded into my brain.

In all the different risk scenarios I had played out in my mind, not one of them had ever, ever included a betrayal like this. That he might cheat on me? Yes. That he might forget me? Also yes.

But those were normal. Those were things anyone could overcome. But this? The pain slices through me. I wrap my arms around my waist and bend over to hold it in, to keep myself together.

How could he do this to me? How could he be so sweet? Should I have somehow guessed? Wasn't it really odd how he'd sit through those wedding shows without complaint? Dallas wouldn't do that and we've been friends for over a decade. And how he was so patient with me? How he didn't make fun of my cautiousness?

I pull my backpack from the desk and onto the floor because I don't yet have the strength to get up. My hands are shaking so much it's hard to open the zipper, and it takes a couple of tries. I shove my dossier into it. Austin doesn't get to keep this. He doesn't get to keep any of these.

I look around for my clothes. My panties are lying obscenely in the middle of the floor, mocking me. I snatch them up and stuff them inside my backpack too. God, I have to get dressed and get out of here. _Come on!_ I shout to myself. _Stop sniveling and get out of this hellhole!_

Dimly, I can hear myself making awful sounds. I hold a hand up to my mouth to silence the moans before anyone can hear me. _I've got to get out of here. I've got to go._

Austin breaks into the room and rushes over to me. "What's wrong, Alls? Did you fall and hurt yourself?"

 _Fall and hurt myself? Yeah, I guess I did._ I flinch when he lays an arm around my shoulders. I can't stand his touch. It makes me sick.

"Are you injured?" he says in concern, trying to turn me around so he can inspect me.

And suddenly I'm enraged. He's concerned I'm not going to do his dirty work.

 _"You're just going to accept my no?"_

 _"I have to, don't I?"_

Right. He's just going to accept a no. I knew that sounded like a trick when he'd said it, but I wanted it to be true, so I accepted it. I didn't listen to my internal warning system. I threw away all my careful assessments and what happened? I let Austin eviscerate me. He couldn't have done a better job of tearing me apart if he'd put my heart through a wood chipper.

"Don't touch me," I snarl and scuttle backward. My feet hit my jeans. I drape them over my lap. Behind me is a blanket, and I wrap that around me, too. If I had to rip down a curtain, I'd do that as well. Anything to cover myself up.

"What's wrong, Alls?"

Austin is wearing a completely bewildered expression, as if he doesn't have the first clue what's going on. As if he and his little team didn't completely research every facet of my life. I was just another challenge for them to conquer.

"How'd you get picked?" I ask. "Draw the short straw? Was it hard to abstain from fucking a different girl every night, or did you do that anyway while lying through your teeth about being only turned on by me?"

God, all the lines, all the things I fell for. I couldn't be more humiliated if I had to walk through campus nude. That eight minutes of silence I experienced my freshman year? Even that didn't make me feel as low and dirty and awful as I do now.

"What are you talking about?" he barks out and then, as if realizing he's supposed to be nice to me, he gives me a strained smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm working blind right now. I know you're angry, but I don't know why. Is it about the Dallas thing? Because you seemed to be okay with it."

"Seemed to be?" I say. To my disgust, my words come out shrill and quavery. "Before today I didn't know how long you've been plotting this out. How you and whoever went around and compiled a more thorough background check than the FBI. When did you figure out that Dallas and I were friends? Was it that first night you came to Starbucks? Was it before then? After? When?" I'm screaming at the end. Literally screaming. I stand up and start dressing. It doesn't matter what he answers. I'm not going to believe him.

I can't believe I slept with him. I can't believe I let down all my defenses. I can't believe I didn't listen to myself. I knew he was a risk. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

But I let him talk me into bed. Hell, I jumped into bed with him. I told him it was for one night and then went back for seconds and thirds. We've been carrying on this charade for nearly three weeks! He was so damn clever.

"I don't know what in the hell you're talking about!" Austin yells back. "If you'd tell me, I'd give you an explanation. Hell, I'd apologize, but I don't know what the fuck is going on!" His hand goes to the back of his neck. A classic Austin sign of frustration.

I struggle into my T-shirt and then stomp over to my backpack and pull out the folder. I thrust it into his hands.

"This. This is what I'm talking about. You knew my class schedule, where I worked. That I was in mock trial. You even have a list of my fucks! I'm surprised you don't have my goddamned medical records in there."

Austin's face pales. He flips open the folder that is empty except for the note stuck to the back flap. He reaches in and crumples it up. Then the whole manila folder folds in on itself as he fists his hand. "Goddammit, no. I didn't use any of this shit. I didn't even know you and Dallas-" He breaks off. "Fuck, I hate saying your names together in one sentence. I'm so fucking lost on you that I get irrationally jealous when your names are linked together because you don't belong to Dallas. You belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone. Least of all you!" I jab him in the chest.

That was a mistake. He grabs my hand and pulls me into his arms, banding his muscle, bones and tissue around me like strong rope. I struggle, but he doesn't release me. We look ridiculous. Like some black-and-white silent film villain and weak maiden.

"When did you know?" I choke on the words. "When did you know? Did you intentionally seek me out? Did you sleep with me to persuade me to talk to Dallas? Did you?" I pound my fists on his chest, and he stands there and takes it. I pound and pound and pound and scream and cry until I'm too exhausted to say or do anything else but collapse in his arms.

He picks me up and carries me to his chair by the window.

"I didn't know," he says in a strained voice. His arms are loose around me, but he's tense everywhere else. Ready, I suppose, to capture me if I try to flee again. Right now I'm drained. "I didn't know until a day or two before you came to stay at Dallas' place."

"Before we had sex," I mumble into his chest. When I gain my second wind, I'm going to get up and leave.

"Yeah, before we had sex."

"So you used me," I say dully.

"No, goddammit. No. I fucking... no."

"What were you going to say?" I feel like I've heard everything at this point and believe nothing. Nothing that I don't see with my own eyes, at least.

He's quiet for a long time. His chest rises and falls as he takes these giant gulps of breath, as if he's preparing for something big. He better tell me the truth. I hope that's what he's gathering his courage to do.

"I think I'm falling in love with you. So, no, I did none of those things you say I did. But I don't blame you for thinking them. I didn't ask for that stuff to be done, and I'm sorry it was. But I'm not sorry I met you. I'm not sorry we made love."

"Love?" My head's spinning now. It's a good thing I'm sitting down, even if it is on Austin's lap, because I'm seriously confused.

"Yeah. I mean, do I know what love is? Probably not, but I can't stop thinking about you. I grin at odd times during the day like a goddamn fool when I come across something you said or did. Sex with you is off-the-charts amazing. Kissing you. Just kissing you make me horny as hell. Other women walk by and I know in the past, pre-Ally, I'd be attracted to them, but now they are like oatmeal to me. Bland and uninteresting. You're the sugar in my life. So yeah, I'm falling in love with you."

I have no response to that. We haven't known each other for that long. Only a few weeks. It doesn't make sense to me.

"I know it's crazy, right?" he whispers into my hair. "I didn't realize the earth was moving when I saw you the first time. I didn't realize everything in my life was changing because it happened slowly. One meal, one conversation, one kiss at a time."

My cheeks are wet again. I've never had anyone say these words to me before. I don't know if they're false. They don't feel false. But can I even trust my instincts anymore?

He sighs again, and the breath ruffles my hair. I dig my face into his chest because I don't want to talk. I don't have the words for what I'm feeling right now. Happy, angry, sad, confused, elated. They are all inside of me, fighting for domination. The cocktail of strong emotions is making me dizzy and weak.

Austin rubs my arms slowly. "I swear to you on a stack of Holy Bibles, my grandmother Betty's grave, and the Outland Trophy I won for last year's season that I did not know who you were when we met at Starbucks or when I ate with you at Crowerly's. I knew who you were when I found you baking cookies that night at Dallas' place, but I slept with you because I wanted you, not because of Dallas. I hate that you have a relationship with him. It makes me jealous as fuck. And I'm not thrilled I'm in this position with Dallas, but Coach laid it on me."

For some reason, this sets off my bullshit meter. I push away from him so I can see his face.

"Coach told you?" I ask with some skepticism. "And you just do it?"

Austin raises his eyebrows. "I'm guessing your mock trial is set up a little differently but in football, your coach is your dad, the Holy Trinity and the President of the United States all wrapped up into one foul-mouthed body. If he asks you to murder someone, you respond with 'Should I use a knife or a gun?'"

"That sounds healthy," I say sarcastically.

"It's just the way it is," he admits. "But he has us for four years, or in my case five since I redshirted, but for the time that we're here, he owns us. We're his chess pieces on the big green board." Austin leans back against the cushion and stares at the ceiling. "I think that's why college coaches suck as pro coaches. Here we do everything he says, but once you're out and making money, he doesn't have as much control."

Austin tips his head and points his startlingly eyes directly at me. "I'm not going to lie to you. I sat in the back of that room when you delivered that closing thinking how you were the perfect person to deliver the message to Dallas because you're so amazing. If you came to me, with a passionate and reasoned argument like you delivered, I'd do just about anything. So yes, in all honesty, I did use you but not in the way you're accusing me."

I suck my lips into my mouth and mash them between my teeth. "I'm so confused. I don't know what to think or do right now."

"You don't have to make any decisions, but I'd like a chance to prove myself to you." His gaze doesn't waver, and I can't see anything but sincerity in his eyes.

"How?"

"I won't bring up Dallas again." He shakes his head slowly. "I'll be honest. I feel like I'm outkicking my coverage. Not only would I want you to be my lawyer, but I'm not sure I'm worthy of being your boyfriend."

"Is that what you are?" I ask. My heart is telling me to believe. I've lived my whole life being careful. Do I want to be careful again? I think back to the agony I felt when I thought he'd betrayed me. Thought? As in past tense? Had I forgiven him? Was there anything to forgive? "My boyfriend?"

"Damn straight I am." He squeezes me. "I'm buying a letterman's jacket and you're wearing it."

I laugh against my will. Austin's too good at finding the cracks in my armor, as if I even have armor against him. "They don't have letterman jackets at UF."

"It's the internet age. I'm sure I can find some seller somewhere to whip me up one. We'll have matching jackets. Mine can say 'property of Ally Dawson' and yours can say 'property of Austin Moon.'" He leans back again and looks off into the distance as if envisioning us in some weird Grease production wearing his version of promise rings. "I like that. You think you'd be open to getting a tattoo of my name on your ass?"

"No. No. And also no," I reply firmly.

"Yeah, I thought that was a bridge too far. But I'm getting you that jacket and you're wearing it and you're going to like it."

"I am, am I?"

"Yeah." He looks down at me pensively, his grin fading away. "I'm really sorry for hurting you. This thing between you and..." He won't say Dallas' name, and somehow his jealousy, no matter how wrong it is, soothes my battered pride. "It's a tangle, but it doesn't mean I don't have genuine feelings for you or that we can't be together."

"When I saw my name and all of that stuff, I felt violated. I don't want to feel that way again."

"It was shitty. No excuses."

"Don't hurt me. Don't make a fool of me."

"I won't. I'm not playing here. You're not a game to me."

I draw a shaky breath. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that until those words came out of his mouth.

He draws my stiff body against his and holds me there for a long time until I relax. He doesn't make any move to take off my clothes or kiss me or try to use my attraction for him against me, and that goes further in soothing my hurt than even his words do.

"The Outland Trophy? Why not the National Championship?"

"Because the Outland Trophy's an individual award. I can't swear on a team achievement, Alls."

Well, duh. I chuckle. He laughs, and it seems like we've weathered the storm.

* * *

Austin convinces me to skip classes, which I rarely do, but I only have two today, and I'm uber responsible every other day of the year. I'm wrecked emotionally from this morning and wouldn't be able to pay attention anyway.

There are a few guys on defense I haven't met before, and Austin introduces me around. Dez tries out some web lists he's working on after I tell him that "spa day" as a euphemism for sex doesn't work.

"I'm working on an article about the top ten foods that look like dildos," he says as he works the controller to launch a shot on goal. I block him easily. I played a lot of this with Dallas when we were in middle school and junior high. I haven't forgotten my skills.

"Ew, no. I'm not sticking a cucumber up my lady passage." I dribble past him, break a few of his players' ankles, and score.

"Sausage casing?"

"Gross."

"Shit. How are you so good at this?" He looks over at Austin. "This isn't fair. You bring a ringer into our house to stomp me?"

Austin shrugs and shoves a carrot into his mouth. His refrigerator is surprisingly full of vegetables. It's really impressive. I don't have a lot of extra money to keep my fridge stocked with fresh goodies like this. Austin even shoved me out of the kitchen and told me to go play with Dez while he prepared everything.

I'm enjoying being pampered. Maybe this is a spa day.

"Let's switch gears," Dez suggest. "How about 'perfumed palace'"?

"Better." I pop a cucumber slice into my mouth.

"Scented cavern?"

"Cavern borders on rude." I flick my thumb over the toggle and steal the ball.

"What do you think of 'secret garden'"?

"Way to ruin my favorite childhood book." The ball goes sailing into the corner. Dez and I race to get it.

"Och, lassie, you needn't worry naught for nothing," Austin intones.

I set down my controller. "What was that?"

"Yorkshire accent," he says with mock offense.

"Sounded like a southern accent with a touch of Canadian. In others words, not Yorkshire."

"So no dirty talk with an accent?"

"No."

"Ohh, you guys do the dirty talk?" Dez crows. "That'd be a great article. Say a few lines for me," he orders.

"No!" I give Austin a stern look that says if he opens his mouth right now, I'm shoving the entire vegetable tray in it.

He snaps his mouth shut. "Sorry, buddy. No can do."

"Man, bros before hoes," Dez mutters.

Later we watch a movie. During a particularly hot love scene, Austin gets up abruptly and hauls me into the bedroom. I might have been rubbing his dick under the blanket.

"You are going to pay for all that teasing." He bends me over the bed and kicks my feet apart. Like I imagine it would be like if I got arrested. Suddenly, the image of hot Austin in a police uniform appearing at my apartment door pops into my head. I get a little excited. Okay, a lot excited.

Austin notices. "What's got you all turned on?"

He rubs a hand over my ass.

"Don't worry," I tease. "I'm fantasizing about you."

"Yeah? Well, tell me about it so I can make it good for you."

And I realize one of the reasons I'm so willing to forgive him is because he does take all of the risk. There's no shame in telling him what I want, because he wants it, too.

He is really in to me. Into us.

"I was thinking how this position makes me imagine Hot Cop Austin. Didn't you say you wanted to be in the FBI?" He told me that after we went skating, when we were talking about after the NFL and what else he'd do besides his Instagrammable tea parties.

He chuckles low and I feel it in my tummy. "What am I investigating?"

"Um, theft of state secrets." I pluck something random out of the air.

"Alright, Miss Dawson, I'm going to have to search you now. Don't move."

I wiggle my butt. "Shouldn't a lady agent be doing this?"

He smacks me lightly. "You want to go to prison? Or do you want to make this problem go away?"

"Go away," I say with a forced tremble in my voice.

He slides down to his knees. "Then you're going to do exactly what I say, when I say it, aren't you?"

This time when I speak, the quaver is entirely real. "Yes."

He pushes my legs even wider apart. "Then you have to stay real still and real quiet while I eat your pussy. Otherwise, my partner's going to hear you." He leans forward and rubs his tongue along my entire sex. "And if he hears you, he's going to come into this room and then I'm going to have to share you. I don't want that, do you?"

I gulp. "No."

"And if you're not quiet and you're not still, I'm going to come in my pants. We both know you want me in your mouth, don't you?" He licks me again and again and again. I shove my face into the comforter and pant. Yes, God, yes, I want him in my mouth again. The heavy weight of him on my tongue, the way he looks at me like I'm the only light in a dark place, the way he moans and groans and jacks helplessly as I drive him completely and utterly out of his mind.

"Yes."

"Then take your punishment like a good little girl."

I'll do the best that I can, Officer. I swear it.


	15. Chapter 15

Ally

"I need to go." Reluctantly, I untangle myself from Austin's embrace. The clock says the sun will be rising soon and I should get home. I've spent too much time with Austin this past week. This is going to be a tough day for Dallas.

Austin's unhappy I'm leaving. I see it in the straight line of his lips and the tenseness in his large frame. He doesn't say anything while he throws back the covers and swings out of bed. My breath catches in the back of my throat at the movement of his body.

He throws on a pair of sweatpants and then digs around in a dresser for socks.

I pause in zipping my jeans. "You don't have to walk me home."

He looks at me like I'm nuts. "Yeah, that's not happening."

"It's fine. It's almost dawn." I peer through the slats of his vertical blinds.

He bends down to tie his boots. "You could stay but you won't, right? Because you don't want Dallas to know you're sleeping with me?"

I let the blinds fall back into place. "I stayed a few nights," I point out, but, yes, I can't deny part of my decision relates to Dallas. "He's hurting right now. I don't want to twist the knife in any further."

Austin's jaw clenches, but he's skating on thin ice since I found my dossier, so whatever jealous thoughts he has he keeps to himself. Instead, he steps toward me, halting close enough that I have to tip my head back to look at him. "Want me to talk to him?"

"No offense, but I don't think he'd listen to you." Although, if this situation on the team is going to get resolved, Dallas and Austin and the entire team are going to have to talk and listen to each other.

"You're probably right." He pulls me against him and I breathe deep, enjoying the smell of warm, sexy Austin for a moment longer.

"I can't stay tonight. Today is going to be hard for him, and I need to be there. He'd be there for me."

A flicker of unhappiness flits through his eyes at the reminder of my closeness with Dallas, but then his easygoing nature breaks through and he gives me a rueful smile. "I can't believe I'm trying to talk a woman into spending the night with me."

It's my turn to glance down to hide the sting of his comment. He means it as a compliment, but it's a reminder of how many girls have shuffled in and out of this bedroom.

"Hey, you." He tips my chin up. "No one else is spending time in here just because you aren't around. I hope you know that."

I push the doubt away and cling to those words.

* * *

Dallas sits in front of the television, his bloodless hands gripped between his legs, looking as angry as I've ever seen him. I immediately text Carrie and Piper and tell them to take a long time at dinner.

My thoughts flit to Austin. I never thought to ask him if he was worried. He probably isn't in any danger of being replaced, but I never asked, either, too caught up in my own drama. I tell Dallas I need to use the bathroom and slip away to shoot off a quick text.

 _Me: Day going okay for you?_

 _Austin: It's all good. Thanks for asking. You?_

 _I'm doing okay. Worried about,_ I don't want to bring up Dallas again, so I just type, _friends._

 _Austin: Got it. Call me if you want to talk or meet up. I'll be up late._

 _Me: I'll probably be busy._

 _Austin: Practice starts tomorrow. We'll work it out._

When I get out, Dallas is pacing.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"I'm the quarterback, Ally, or did loverboy convince you otherwise?"

"Dallas, I'm behind you. It doesn't matter who I'm dating."

He snorts out an ugly laugh. "Does it feel good to be Moon's current slam piece?"

I grind my teeth together to keep from lashing out. "If you're going to be an asshole, you can leave."

Dallas runs a hand through hair. "What is that you see in him?"

"He's kind." I think back to how he made me breakfast, his thoughtfulness.

"He's working to turn the team against me. The entire defensive squad follows his lead. If he stood up and supported me, the team would support me. If I don't have him, I'm as good as gone."

I rub my lips together. I don't like where this is going. I didn't like it when Austin presented his side of the argument to me and I definitely don't like Dallas trying to leverage our friendship. "I have no influence over him, just like I have no influence over you."

Dallas' jaw works furiously as he holds in whatever horrible invective he'd like to spit out at me. Finally, he fixes his attention on the television and we watch the show in silence. For two excruciating hours. I open my mouth to ask him to leave just as the show flips from the studio to someone's home.

If I thought Dallas was angry before, it's nothing like the rage consuming him now. He squeezes the remote so tight, the plastic cover over the battery cracks in his hands.

I get up and move to the kitchen because the tension in the living room is suffocating. The phone rings, startling me. I glance at my phone, but I realize it's not mine ringing. It's Dallas'. It rings and rings until the voicemail cuts in.

Then there's a series of pings that signal an influx of text messages or emails arriving. Dallas sits there like a statue. I feel stupid and useless. Should I answer the inquiries for him? Say no comment? Block them? Or hell, just turn the stupid thing off.

"Dallas, can I help you?"

He doesn't answer.

I fumble with my phone and text Austin.

 _Dallas is frozen and his phone is blowing up. What should I do?_

The phone rings immediately. Dallas' head tips slightly to the side, as if registering it's at least not his phone.

"Hello?"

My heart leaps and my stomach drops at the same time.

"You okay?" Austin asks.

"Hey," I answer vaguely not wanting to pour fuel on Dallas' already triggered temper.

"He's sitting next to you?"

"Close."

"Fuck."

The animosity between the two is growing, and I can't help but feel like it's my fault. I turn away from Dallas and whisper into the phone. "He's in a bad place right now."

Austin sighs. "Do you want me to come over?"

I clench the phone in my hand. "No. It'd make it worse."

There's a long pause at the other end of the line. I know he doesn't like this, but Dallas is my friend and I can't abandon him now, no matter how rotten he's been to me lately. Austin finally sighs, "Call me if you need anything. Anytime, okay?"

"Okay," I say with relief.

He starts to say something but decides against it, and after we exchange goodbyes, we hang up.

"Was that him on the phone?" Dallas asks immediately. Apparently, he's not dead on my sofa.

I almost lie, but then I decide Dallas deserves the truth about as much as I deserve to see Austin if I want.

"Yes."

Dallas breathes through his nose. "Are you dating him?"

The disbelief in his voice grates hard. I snap out, "Yes."

"What makes you think you're relationship material to him?"

"I..." The question is so surprising, so insulting, I barely know how to answer. "Am I not? Do you know something about me that prevents me from being, um, relationship material?"

"Yeah, because you're too fucking nice. College is a cesspool of people who are fucked up, Ally. You think you know them one minute, but you don't." Dallas pauses.

"Dallas, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you're making a huge fucking mistake. You want to survive with your soft little heart intact, then smarten up. I've told you time and again that guys here only want one thing. You think somehow your pussy is the golden one that suddenly turns Moon away from all the free pussy he has access to?"

I flinch.

"No, you're a novelty. He thinks the chase is great, but once you stop running, he'll be bored and move on to the next tasty treat on the menu. How long did your dad spend staring at the bottom of the bottle waiting for your mom to stop fucking my dad?"

I jerk back, feeling his words like a physical blow.

He swipes a shaky hand across his face. "Guys like us. Like my old man. Like Austin. Women are just a convenience. There for the taking. There all of the time. The only thing we can do to minimize the damage we inflict is to pair up with women who want the same thing we want. They don't want love or romance. They don't require devotion. They give their bodies. They take from you, and you're both fine. But that's not how you're built, Ally."

I hardly know what to say in response because he's right. I tried the hookup route after my high school boyfriend dumped me. Those weren't satisfying, so I tried dating my safe, solid boyfriends. Those weren't successful either. I tried one night with Austin but couldn't stick with it because he was too charming, too fun, too wonderful in bed and out of it. But I do require loyalty, faithfulness, and a certain amount of devotion. Austin's already admitted he's been a shitty boyfriend to one girl.

"Maybe I've changed," I manage to choke out. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

"When did you start fucking him? Have you known all along? Have you been laughing about this shit behind my back?" The veins in Dallas' neck are bulging against his skin. He's red-faced, and some of his words are wet, laced with spittle and venom.

I can feel a spike of stress messing with my system. "I slept at his place the night my apartment was fumigated," I say as evenly as possible.

"You slept with Moon four weeks ago?" Dallas yells like some outraged virgin.

My own temper fires up. He's not the injured party in this scenario. I slam my spoon down again. "Yeah, because you were fucking some jersey chaser on the sofa, and I didn't want to watch the porn show, okay? Austin offered me a place to stay."

"Oh, I bet he did."

I stare at him in confusion. "Yes, he did. And he was a perfect gentleman. He didn't try anything. He made me breakfast and sent me on my way. We got together later and had sex."

He screws up his face. "You know what? Take your little walk in the gutter with Moon. But don't come to my house weeping that he's broken your heart and given you an STD."

I rear back as if he's slapped me. "That's not fair."

"Welcome to life, Ally. Nothing is fuckin' fair," he spits out.

"Dallas." I try to soften my tone, but it's difficult. His hurtful words are branded in my mind, making my hands tremble. "This has nothing to do with you. I promise you. I'm on your side. What position you want to play, what Austin wants, it doesn't matter."

Nothing I say penetrates Dallas' rage. He snatches his sunglasses off the table and is at the door in four long strides. Hand on the doorknob, he turns back. "You're going to regret this. When he moves on, and he will, and you end up being humiliated after dozens of pictures are plastered on the web with him and some jersey chaser, you're really going to feel good, aren't you?"

"Please go." My throat is tight. I can't believe he's saying these things to me.

"I'm telling you this because you're too soft for Austin Moon. If you have any doubts about what I'm saying, Google his fucking name. There are a hell of a lot more pictures out there than what I showed you."

I try swallowing, but there's a huge lump in my throat. "What Austin did before me makes no difference."

Dallas looks at me like I'm the dumbest fucking girl on the planet.

"Have fun fucking him tonight." And with that, he's gone.

At the computer, I hesitate. I slam the laptop lid shut and then pace. I pace back to my desk and open it again.

I type in his name. Most of the pictures are of him in uniform, him on the field. There's one link on the second page of him bending over, his broad shoulders between another girl's legs. She's wearing jeans but her shirt is off. His shirt is off. I don't know what he's doing there.

There are other pictures of him and another girl. Him and Dez and two girls. They were all taken the same night.

My heart twists as I look them over. The dates of the pictures inform me that they were taken the night after the championship game. Just a few weeks before he came to my work. Just a few weeks before I had my own personal, up-close picture of Austin between my legs.

I knew exactly how it felt for him to be there, licking and sucking and fingering me in ways that made my sex clench just to think about it. It kills me to know there are other women out there who have experienced that same pleasure.

Not a rational feeling, but it's there and I can't make it go away.

Can he change? Dallas says no.

But then Dallas has his own issues, his own demons that Austin doesn't struggle with. I shut my laptop firmly and push it away.

 _So Austin had sex in the past. Big whooping deal._ I repeat that to myself a hundred times, but Dallas has stirred up the fear I thought I'd put behind me.

* * *

Austin

I tuck my phone away and try to curb my impatience. Wishing Dallas and Ally weren't friends is a fruitless exercise. They are, and I'm going to have to deal with it. I still think Dallas is the snake in my garden because there's no way he hangs Ally's picture in his locker without having stronger feelings than friendship for her. But there's no point in bringing that up with Ally.

She thinks they're friends, treats him like a friend. They've had plenty of time to knock boots in the past and haven't done it. So I just have to trust that whatever feelings are involved, they aren't on Ally's end.

"Where's everyone else?" I ask Dez as I wander into the living room. Earlier in the day we had half the defense in here watching ESPN's Signing Day special, and now it's just Dez.

"Most of the guys went to the Gas Station. A few went to work out."

Probably the guys who play the same positions as the blue chip recruits announcing today.

"You think about the guys you were replacing on Signing Day?" I ask. I know I hadn't. I was too jacked up to get here and show everyone I was the man.

"Fuck no. I was thinking how I couldn't wait until the fall was here and how I could strut my stuff on national television. I was practicing my hammer move." He brings his arm down in an abrupt chop.

"Yeah, me, too. I wanted to replace those guys. Fuck, I was a terrible shit. I didn't even care that they hazed me. I felt invincible, even when I was running around the stadium with just my jock on."

"Good times." Dez reaches his fist out and I knock mine against it. "You talk to Ally about Dallas?"

"Yeah, last week. It didn't go well. She's not going to talk to him."

"Ah hell," Dez sighs. "What're you going to do now? Maybe if you bring it up with her later? After sex maybe, when you've softened her up."

And maybe someone will knife me in the gut because that's how I felt when I went up there and saw her, nude, crouched over on the floor weeping like she'd just seen her dad killed in front of her.

"No."

He rears back in the harshness in my voice. "Bro, it's not like I asked you to fuck her in the quad."

"Dez, man, I love you, but Ally is my girlfriend, and I'd like you to start treating her with respect." I stare at him. Hard.

He blinks a couple times and nods in acknowledgment. "That's cool. What about Dallas, though?"

I grind my teeth together at hearing his name.

"What about him?"

"If Ally isn't going to talk to him, then are you going to him again?"

I run an agitated hand through my hair. "It'll straighten out by itself. Coach will work the two guys out during summer camp. Let the chips fall where they may. On the field, like how it's always supposed to happen."

Dez snorts.

"What?" I ask with exasperation.

"We both know that if Coach doesn't like you, all the talent in the world isn't going to keep you on the field. And if you aren't on the field, there's nowhere to prove yourself. Your skills atrophy and die."

My answer? To pick up the remote and turn the volume up. It's juvenile, but I'm fucking done with this conversation. Mostly because Dez is right and I don't have a good goddamned response.

A little while later, my phone beeps but it's not Ally. She's still dealing with the drama queen. It's Tilly Thompson, telling me that Coach wants me in his office in the next ten minutes.

"Coach wants to see me."

"Sorry, bro." Dez gives me a thumbs-up sign and a sympathetic smile.

He can smile because it's not his ass going to the coach's office. Again.

* * *

Coach Simmon is behind his desk. The television is on and ESPN is handing out preseason grades based on our recruiting class.

"They're saying UF's going to be dominant for another four years," Coach informs me as I settle into a chair.

"Congrats." I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"What kind of progress are you making with Dallas?"

I launch into the argument I devised on my way over. "He doesn't want to give up the quarterback position. And you know that he's a smart player. He took us where Wilson Rogers didn't, and we all know Rogers is going to be our next black president." I smile, but Coach simply stares at me like I'm a moron. Still, Rogers, the quarterback who graduated last spring and almost led us to a National title my sophomore year, knew every player on the eighty-man roster and could probably tell you their moms' names as well as their girlfriends'. That man was going places, although not in the NFL. He's in graduate school now and is going to run the world someday. I power on. "I know Dallas doesn't have the most accurate arm, but he makes good decisions for the most part. This new guy coming in will be raw. He's never played at the college level-"

"You become coach when I wasn't looking?"

I wince and fight the urge to shrink in the chair. "No, sir."

"Then you can keep your amateur scouting reports to yourself. You're here to play the game as I tell you to play it, on and off the field. Remington Barr is going to be our starting quarterback next year. Whether we field a cohesive team is going to be on you. And, son, if you can't convince a bunch of raggedy-ass boys to follow you on this field, there's no way you're going to play at the next level."

What'd I tell Ally? That the Coach is the lord of your universe? I guess I didn't tell her that you could hate the one in charge even as you played hard to win. Because you weren't playing for him. You were playing for each other.

"Dallas will either be holding the clipboard on the sidelines all season or he'll be on the field as a safety. Your job is to make sure everyone gets behind our new quarterback."

"Yes, sir." I say the words even though it's worse than swallowing a bunch of razors. If there's a Mount Rushmore for crappy coaches, Coach Simmons is getting my first nomination. I sit there fuming in silence as Coach pretends I'm not sitting in the chair five feet away from him. Finally, when the ESPN college crew breaks for commercial, he swivels toward me.

"You're still here?"

Yeah, meathead, I'm still sitting here like a good little soldier waiting to be dismissed. I didn't know that Coach was going to spend the year shitting down my throat while ordering me to smile as he did it.

"You're dismissed." He waves a hand, shooing me off like I'm a pesky, bothersome gnat.

One more year, I remind myself as I stiffly rise from the chair and walk out.

* * *

"Stay away from Ally."

No hello. No preamble. Dallas just storms into my room before dinner, his eyes livid and his cheeks flushed red.

I almost wish he'd saved this confrontation for later. At least until I was able to put some kind of plan together. All I have at the moment is the vague idea of persuading Dallas using the same case I presented to Ally. It'd be good for his future. So few quarterbacks make the transition. More safeties, d-backs and corners out there than quarterbacks. I'd ease into it, though, nice and slow.

"Sure, come on in, Dallas. Good to see you. Nice that you could knock," I say sarcastically, tossing my phone on the bed. "Beer?" I offer because that's all I have in my room and from the wild, tense look in his eyes, he needs about five of them with a chaser of whiskey.

"Sisters and girlfriends are off-limits." Dallas ignores my offer, preferring to stand and glare at me. I've had enough of people spitting on my head in anger today. I get to my feet, fold my arms across my chest, and glare right back.

"And Ally is neither sister nor girlfriend as far as I know." Dallas had been hooking up with Tilly all last semester, banging everything in a skirt, and now he's trying to jockblock me? I'm going to need to lance this boil.

Dallas' lips thin into an unhappy line. "Ally is my friend."

"Like I said, neither girlfriend nor sister. So the locker room rule," stupid as it is and one that nobody really observes, "doesn't apply."

"It does if it's invoked, and I'm invoking it right now."

I scratch my temple and reach for some patience even though that character trait isn't even on my top twenty list of strengths. It lives somewhere down around my feet along with impulse control and restraint. "We're not in grade school anymore. We can't call out new rules on the field."

"Ally is not a jersey chaser," he grinds out. "She's not the type who's interested in one-night stands and hookups, which is probably hard for you to understand given that's all you do."

Jesus. If this guy wasn't taking it on the chin in the football arena already, he'd be kissing my knuckles.

"Okay, man, you need to take a step back." I might have gotten around in the past, but I'm twenty-two. I was single, and there were women throwing themselves at me. That I accepted a few, or several, of those invitations doesn't make me an asshole. "Seems to me that we're two pumpkins in the same patch, brother. It wasn't Tilly Thompson who was sucking your dick at the after party in Phoenix after the National Championship game two weeks ago. Unless Tilly suddenly grew red hair and has a twin that we don't know about. And I could've sworn that you were screwing a Kappa in the bathroom at the Gas Station on Monday night."

"My point exactly," he huffs. "We both know that we're here to play football, first and foremost. Everything else, including women, come a distant second, so stop screwing around with Ally. You're only trying to use her to get to me, and it's not going to work."

That pisses me off on Ally's behalf. "Take your head out of your ass for just a moment and stop thinking about yourself, dickhead. I like Ally because she's hot and interesting. She likes me because I'm... well, I'm awesome. It has nothing to do with you."

"So you're just going to fuck her to make a point."

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not fucking her. She's my girlfriend, and while that might get your jock in a twist because you've been holding a torch for her for a long time, that's just too damn bad. She's not your girlfriend. She's not your sister. You can't go around tagging all the single ladies on campus you might want someday saying that they're off-limits. Doesn't work that way."

"So what? You want to take away my position on the team and take away my best friend too?" he hurls bitterly.

Clenched jaw, I look at him in frustration. "I don't want to do either."

"But you will do both if you want, is that what you're saying?" He sneers. "Stay away from her, Moon. She's too good for you." He stalks to the door. When he gets there he turns around, "And I'm not moving from quarterback. I earned that goddamned position, and Coach Simmons will have to pry me out of there with a backhoe. You can spread that around the defense along with all your other messages."

He slams the door behind him, his exit something out of a fricking soap opera. Quarterbacks and their fucking prima donna attitudes. I drop my head into my hands. So much for taking an easy and nice route with Dallas.

I could do a better job screwing up my life, but not by much. At least I have Ally. I cling to that.


	16. Chapter 16

Ally

"Do you have time to go to the mall with me?" Austin asks when he picks up the phone. He texted and asked if I'd call him when I had a chance, and the first opportunity I've had all day is my mid-evening break during my shift.

"Sure, you run out of Under Armour shirts and sweatpants?"

"Har har. Never heard you complain."

"I'm more interested in what you've got under your clothes," I tease.

"Tell me more."

I lean my head against brick exterior of Starbucks and conjure up a vision of Austin sitting in his desk chair with his feet up, wearing his sweatpants and a tight workout shirt that clings to all of his muscles. "No. I'm taking a break and I don't want to get excited."

"Mmm. This is like a challenge. Do you think I could get you off, just talking to you? Like telling you how if I was there I'd be on my knees, kissing your pussy until you cream all over me."

"Austin Monica Moon, you need to be quiet right now." I turn hot enough to melt the snow.

He chuckles. "You're bringing out the big guns."

"Austin..."

He swallows his next laugh and tries to soothe me. "I swear no more talk about your sweet pussy and my hard dick."

"I'm hanging up now." My panties are becoming uncomfortably damp.

"Seriously. Shutting up. My mom's birthday is coming up in a week and I need to buy her a gift. You in?"

"Yes." I find that's the only response I ever seem to give him these days.

"Great. I'll pick you up at your apartment around five and we can have dinner out by the mall. There's a restaurant not too far away."

Now my heart's melting. "I'll be off in two hours."

"Cool." He pauses.

"What?"

"Love you, Ally."

He hangs up before I can respond. He's such a devil. And I love it. And him.

* * *

He picks me up right on the mark. I bring him a spiced cider from Starbucks and give him a long, thorough kiss.

"So are you telling me that you don't want to go to the mall?" he jokes after I let him go.

"No, that's my 'I love you, too' kiss."

His eyes gleam with warmth. "I like those kisses."

"There's more where that came from."

"Yeah? How many condoms we got left?"

"We're perilously low," I tell him. "We should make a detour tonight."

"Detour? Hell, it will be our first stop."

"Before we leave, here's this." I present the gift I've been working on for the past week.

"What's this?" He leans against the door panel and hefts the gold-wrapped package for inspection.

"It's for you. Someone told me it was your birthday." I sidle in beside him to look at the present.

Austin flips the package around with both hands while sliding me an amused glance. "In January."

I shrug. "I missed Valentine's Day."

"Hmm," he muses. "That was last week, wasn't it? Dez was going off about how he was writing about how to give the best Valentine's Day blow job, but I figured he was writing ahead."

I hurry to assure him that I'm not upset because I'm totally not. I didn't expect any Valentine's Day present. "I hate that made-up holiday. I'm so glad we didn't do anything."

"You sure?"

Is he kidding? I couldn't have a more attentive boyfriend. Yes, we don't do a million things together because we're both busy, but he's there when I need him. He listens to me vent about mock trial, about the stress of midterms, about my mother. He holds my hand when I confess I'm scared of the upcoming competition and doesn't deride me for being overly cautious.

And, most importantly, even though he goes out with his boys now and then, I haven't seen any pictures of him with his arms around another girl, which makes me feel a little foolish for having any concerns about him in the first place.

I rise on my tiptoes to give him a kiss on his cheek. "Completely. Now open this up so we can eat. I'm starving."

He rips off the paper. Just takes his hand and tears the wrapping right down the middle and then stares. Looks at me. Then back to the frame to stare some more.

It's a square frame and inside is his jersey from the Championship game he played and won that second weekend in January right before we met. Dez found it stuffed in the bottom drawer of Austin's dresser. In a cutout inset in the bottom, which took me three tries and five ruined mats before I got right, his stats for the game are listed along with the Outland Trophy he was so proud of.

"This is some present," he murmurs, almost to himself. He admires every part of the gift, from the dark stained wood frame, to the matte glass covering, and the white mat surrounding the jersey, the patch of the bowl game turned outward on full display. We stand outside in the rapidly dimming light. I should be getting cold, but there's something about the way that he's smiling that heats me up inside.

Finally, after several moments pass along with students who cast curious gazes our way, Austin's done inspecting the gift and hits the key fob to raise the back gate. Carefully, he stows the framed jersey under a netting strapped to the floor of the trunk and then pushes the hatch closed.

He helps me into the passenger side and then rounds the front. Inside the car it's toasty warm. On the way to the mall, he swings into a drugstore parking lot.

"I thought you forgot," I say amused.

He arches an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? After that thing back there, I'm thinking about skipping the mall and hauling you back to the house so I can thank you properly. Stay here while I run inside."

It's the third box we've needed since we started dating a month ago.

Austin's full of endless amounts of energy. Even though practice is in full swing, there's not a day that goes by without a phone call, personal visit or text. Usually they all include some kind of sexual innuendo and the days we don't see each other are just one long period of foreplay that makes it all the more exciting when we finally do get our hands on each other.

He pops back in and throws the box into my lap. I toss it between my hands, thinking about the one time Austin forgot the condom and how hot that was. I throw it back at him. "Want to stop using these?"

He jerks, his hand skittering off the gearshift to collide with the dash. He takes a deep breath and then another before swiveling his head toward me, his blond hair nearly obscuring his face. I reach over and tuck the strands behind his ear.

The heat in his eyes nearly singes my fingers.

"If you didn't want to shop, you should have just told me," he finally says. "Because right now, there's no way I'll be able to get out of this vehicle without being arrested for public indecency."

"I'll take that as a yes."

He straightens and then cups my skull, pulling me close to his lips. "It's a yes."

After kissing me senseless, he returns to his seat and starts the Rover. I put myself to rights, pulling down my bra he had shoved up along with my sweater and buttoning my jeans I hadn't even realized he'd loosened.

"Talk to me," he orders as he stares into the rearview mirror and then navigates around the other cars before entering the stream of traffic.

"About what?" I'm still a little dazed from the kiss.

"The unsexiest thing you can think of."

"How's Dallas?"

Austin shoots me a dark look. "That'll do it." He sighs, leans his head back and relaxes against the seat. "He's okay. Coach hasn't moved him yet."

"When do you think that'll happen?"

"In the summer." He sneaks another glance at me. "You guys still hanging out?"

"Not really. He's texted, but we... I don't think he's happy." Dallas hasn't really said anything since he stomped out of my apartment on Signing Day. Absent a few texts, our communication has been brief. He hasn't come over to the house, and I haven't encouraged it. It's sad, like the last part of my childhood is being severed from me, but I can't give up Austin just to appease Dallas' petulance.

"About us?"

"About everything."

"Let's talk about something else? Mock trial?" He looks over as I make a face and an unhappy sound. "Okay, striking mock trial off the list."

"What are you thinking about for your mom?"

"I dunno. That's why you're here. It was either you or Dez, and I didn't want to listen to another of his lists."

I smother a grin. "What are some of her hobbies?"

"Hmm. She likes to read but she already just buys everything she wants, so I've got to be creative."

Austin and I decide to shop first. We stop in at a jewelry store. "How much do you want to spend?"

He shrugs. "Under five?"

I point out a couple of necklaces, lingering over one that has a circle with a small pearl in the middle. It's delicate and lovely.

"Let's see that one," Austin says.

"This is a beautiful piece." The sales lady flips open a black velvet pad and drapes the gold necklace across it.

"I think I need to see it on." He picks it up and gestures for me to turn around.

"Your mom is four inches taller than me," I protest, worried that if I see it around my neck, I'll want to keep it.

"So? You both have necks right?"

I can't argue with that. I lift my hair and Austin hooks it in the back. The gold sparkles in the brightly lit store.

"We'll take it." He hands over the card to the store clerk. I start to take it off, but Austin grabs my arm. "I heard you had a birthday." His smile is bright, his words an echo of mine.

"In a few weeks."

He tugs my hand away from my neck and curls his fingers around my own so I can't remove the necklace. He gives a chin nod to the clerk who scuttles off to run Austin's credit card before we can change our minds.

"What about your mom?" I ask, my hand still under his.

"I bought her a Fitbit already. I know I forgot Valentine's Day."

"Austin..."

He laughs and catches me up in a hard embrace. He dips his head and kisses my neck, catching both chain and flesh under his lips. "I've missed all your previous birthdays, Christmases and Valentine's Day, so this is something small. Don't tell me you don't want it because you'll hurt my feelings."

"I highly doubt that, but thank you. It is too much." I saw the price tag, and this is definitely the most expensive piece of anything I've ever owned besides the laptop my dad surprised me with when I graduated.

"I wanted to." He kisses me again, this time on the lips.

Had I ever thought Austin was a risk? I was such a foolish girl.


	17. Chapter 17

Austin

"We've got a recruit coming," Coach announces. March has rolled around and we're halfway through spring practice. I'm antsy for it to be over because it means I'll have more time to spend with Ally. I'm looking forward to this summer, particularly grateful that she's a townie and will be here with me because I'm getting tired of Coach's shit. It's eroding my love for the game. "You and Dallas are going to show him a good time."

I've spent more time in Coach's office since the National Championship game than I had in all four years prior. I'm getting sick of the leather chairs, the nice carpet, and frankly, his goddamn face.

"Isn't this guy a linebacker?" Dallas asks sarcastically. "My replacement isn't here yet."

Dallas' attitude toward Coach borders on insubordination. It's definitely insolent, but what the hell? It's not like Dallas has a lot to lose. I feel sorry for him. I really do, but then I think about the shit he vomited all over me a couple weeks ago. I still can't convince Ally to spend the night with me. She doesn't want to hurt little Dallas' feelings, even though I sense a serious amount of distance between the two of them.

I'm guessing Dallas had a throw down with her, much like he had with me. Like me, she didn't take it well. Unlike me, she kinda cares.

There's something highly ironic about the fact I'm pretty much begging her to stay with me but she keeps turning me down. If I want to sleep with her, I have to do it in her apartment, in her tiny-ass bed that's about as comfortable as sleeping on my yoga mats. Which is to say, not fucking comfortable. We only do it when I'm desperate. So like three, four times a week.

"You two need to start working together. Your team is falling apart and I want you to fix it. Starting with this new recruit."

I half believe Dallas will tell Coach that the new recruit can go suck a goat, but he doesn't.

Instead, we take the new recruit out for dinner. He's big bodied, and needs to lose about thirty pounds of fat and trade that in for fifty pounds of muscle. Worse? He's got a loud fucking mouth and I'm not talking volume. The kid has a Twitter account, a Facebook account, an Instagram account, and a fucking Pinterest board where he pins pictures of food.

His Twitter account is the worst. He's been documenting every single thing associated with his recruiting trips from the snacks he received on the airplane to the sidewalk cracks outside each stadium.

Oh, yeah, and he doesn't shut up.

"What are we doing later tonight?" he asks.

Two seconds later. "You guys bringing me strippers?"

Before I can draw my next breath. "Are they jumping out of a cake? I've always wanted a stripper cake."

Jesus, does he think we're putting on some Mardi Gras parade for him?

"No," I say shortly.

"How about the booze. I can do a two-story beer bong."

I share another long-suffering glance with Dallas, who smiles back at me. He's enjoying this. "You're eighteen. We can't serve you booze," I tell him.

"But... why are you taking me around then?"

"So you can get a feel for the campus. You want us to violate some NCAA rules and make it impossible for you to get a D-1 scholarship here?"

"Uh, no," he stutters, showing a modicum of sense for the first time during the whole trip. Truth is, if we liked him, if we thought he wasn't a total washout, then we would treat him to a few UF perks. But this guy isn't worth the effort. This is our punishment.

"Good, then follow me, don't drink, and don't touch anyone."

"What if they touch me?"

I close my eyes. "That's fine. If they touch you first, feel free to touch them back, but for God's sake, don't offer to pay them anything. These are students, not hookers."

Dallas muffles a laugh behind his hand. I give explicit instructions to the bartenders at the Gas Station that this is an underage, loud-mouth recruit. They nod and serve him a Coke when he asks. I take a shot of whiskey because the only way I'm making it through the night is with really, really dulled senses. Numb, in fact.

There're plenty of women in the Gas Station to make up for the lack of alcohol. I tell one of the girls to pretend like she's spiking his drink while she pours club soda in it. A couple of other players show up and take him off my hands for an hour to play pool.

Dallas leans back in the booth across from me and looks at me with assessing eyes.

I give a tired gesture. "Whatever you've got to say, spit it out."

"Why aren't you taking my back in this?" Dallas asks. "You really think I'm that shitty of a quarterback?"

I sigh. I don't know if I've ever really hated anyone, but I'm getting close with Coach. "No. You're a good quarterback and I'm proud to wear the same colors."

"But I'm not great."

"We don't need you to be great." I squeeze the back of my neck. "Look, it doesn't matter what I think. Coach has made up his mind. The kid's coming here and he's going to start him. He... he doesn't like you, man."

"I guess I'll just continue being the thorn in his side."

"Why? You're real athletic. You have great hands. Why not try for safety?" I launch into my spiel about how there's so much more opportunity for him in the NFL beyond the stupid quarterback position. Who even gives a crap about that position anyway?

"I don't want to play that position. I've got one year left to prove that I'm worth a draft pick or at least a tryout or two."

"But if you're not on the field, you can't prove anything other than you look good holding a clipboard."

"You know that the favorite player in the stadium is the backup quarterback," Dallas replies confidently. "That freshman comes in and he gets his first hit, he's going to come crawling over to the sideline and I'll be there to step in and save the day."

I down another shot because that's the only way I'm going to make it through the night between the raw-ass recruit who's determined to get drunk and screw as many college chicks as he can, and the grand delusions of Dallas.

"You don't believe I can do it, do you?"

"I don't know what's going to happen this fall," I tell him frankly. "I want to win again. I want to enjoy our senior year. I want to know that we did everything we could to repeat. But I don't know what's going to happen. Maybe it goes just like you say. Or maybe the new player comes in and plays just well enough to keep his starting job and you don't see squat and become a footnote in UF football. And I don't want that for you, man. You're too good of an athlete. Too good of a football player."

Dallas considers my words for a minute and then leans forward, folding his hands on the top of the table. "I tell you what, you stop seeing Ally. You tell her that you're done with her and I'll move to safety."

I choke on the vodka shot. Dallas rises up and slaps me on the back, too hard to be termed friendly, but at this point I need it.

"What'd you just say?" I demand.

"You heard me."

"I heard some words, but I don't think I understood them."

"No, you heard me clearly. I'll make it easy for you, for the team. For Coach. For everyone. But, in exchange, you give Ally back to me."

I narrow my eyes. Something isn't right here. "You and Ally are friends."

"No, not really. She thinks we're friends but we've always been meant to be together."

I've only had three shots, but I feel dazed. He's been denying they've been anything but friends and now he's willing to trade his precious QB position for her? As if she's a piece of property I've got control over?

"Dallas, brother. For the four years we've been teammates, you've screwed your share of brunettes, but not one of them has been Ally. And you've insisted that you and Ally are just friends. I'm getting whiplash here."

"Know how many guys Ally has slept with?"

I can't really say I don't know because I have the list from Elliot, but I don't think I should admit that. Dallas doesn't care.

"I do. It's six. You and her loser high school boyfriend and a few randoms in between. Know how old she was when she lost her last baby tooth?"

So Elliot was wrong. Good thing I didn't hunt them all down and gouge out their eyes for having seen Ally naked. "No."

"Thirteen. She had to have braces after that. Know what she wore to her senior prom?"

"A dress?" I'm tiring of this game real fast.

"No again. She wore pants. One of our friends came out as a lesbian and didn't want to wear a dress and so Ally wore a tux in solidarity."

That sounds very Ally-like. "Okay."

"My point is that you don't know shit about Ally, and you haven't spent the time to find this stuff out."

"When she lost her baby tooth is pertinent how?" I drum my fingers on the table impatiently. Dallas is getting to me a tiny bit. I don't know all this stuff, but I can learn. Doesn't mean we aren't right for each other. Doesn't mean Dallas gets to claim her. That sentiment is ridiculous, and if Ally were here, she'd shove that right in his face.

"I know her. She knows me. We're meant to be together. So step back and let her find her way back to me."

"No."

Dallas' fingers curl into fists, and he looks like he's ready to launch himself over the table. But something changes his mind. Maybe the fact that we're in the fucking Gas Station, a public place, penetrates his tiny brain. Whatever the reason, he sits back, rolls his shoulders and pretends to relax. "Fine."

"That it?" I ask flatly.

"Not really. Since you're determined to fuck up my life, the least you can do is drink a few shots with me."

Is this an olive branch? I grab at it. "Sounds good."

* * *

"No shmore."

"You can do one more," Dallas cajoles.

"No. I can't." I can barely sit up. "Where's our recruit?"

"Brooke and Chelsea volunteered to take him home."

I blink at the two girls. One's wearing a red dress and the other is in blue, and the garments are so short you'd think we were in the tropics and not knee deep in snow. They're from a sorority, but I can't remember the name of it. "That's solid of you two. Real solid." I shake my head and it keeps shaking, like a bobblehead. I place a hand on the top of my head to stop it.

"Let's take some pictures so the boy has some memories he can go home and brag about it to his friends."

That's fair. We both know he won't be back here. Our recruit jumps up enthusiastically and grabs both girls by the waist. Dallas snaps a few pictures while I pull out my own phone and text Dez and Jace.

 _Me: Dudes. I'm waisted. waisted. fck. waisted. fck. u kno wht I mean. Got a recruit. Make sure he gets home. Gas station._

I tuck the phone away.

"Come on and get your picture taken."

"Nah."

"Our recruit wants it," Dallas says.

Turing my head toward him is about as easy as steering a crane but I manage it.

"Okay. Okay." Anything to get the girls to stop squealing. I heave my drunk ass up to their side and lean in.

"Closer," Dallas gestures. "I can't fit you into the frame."

"Dude, I can barely stand up."

"Hold him up, Brooke," Dallas orders.

Brooke slides her arm around my waist. I drape my hand behind her back and rest my hand on our new player's shoulder. Nothing about this feels right but I can't pinpoint exactly what bothers me. The brunette rests her cheek against my shoulder.

"Austin," she breathes softly. "I heard you were dating someone. Is that true?"

I look down at her, thinking of how much I'd like Ally to be here, holding me up and looking at me with her big brown eyes. I can feel my own face soften. "Yeah, true. I really dig this chick. She's smart and interesting." And hot as hell. I can feel my jeans getting tight thinking about her.

"Ahh, that's sweet." The girl rises on her tiptoes and kisses me. Right on the lips. Motherfucker!

"Uh huh. No kisses from anyone else." I let her go and shake my finger at her. "Not cool, Brooke."

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, Austin. It was just a kiss." The girl flounces away.

"We better get the recruit home," I tell Dallas.

"The girls will take him home," he protests.

"Nah, he's our responsibility. Come on." I peel him away from the lips of Blue Dress.

There's a chorus of disappointed sounds, but somehow I manage to muscle him outside and start pushing him toward the Playground.

"We don't want to disappoint Coach Simmons," I tell him.

"Yeah, I hear ya." The cold air must be blowing some sense into him.

Dez and Jace meets us halfway home and Dallas peels off to his own place.

"How's it going?" Jace asks, his wary gaze fixed on Dallas' retreating figure.

"With Dallas?" I slur. "About as good as you can expect."

And then I stumble home, type out a few incoherent messages to Ally, and pass out.


	18. Chapter 18

Ally

When I get up I see Austin has sent me a text. It's garbled and the time stamp says two am.

 _Austin: Im drnk mss u._

 _Austin: Plc Austin wtns u._

 _Austin: Lv u_

Plc? Police Austin? Please Austin? Lv u? I think that's Love you. I can't figure the other one out. Apparently drunk Austin doesn't know where the vowels are. I text him back.

 _Me: It's tomorrow. Are you feeling okay?_

I'm surprised when a response comes right away.

 _Austin: No, but I do miss you. I'm still in bed._

 _Me: On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?_

 _Austin: Two. I'm still burping up the shots from last night._

 _Me: That's super gross. Thanks for sharing._

 _Austin: np_

 _Me: Need me to come over and rub your back?_

I figure he'll be all over this since he was texting me last night, drunkenly asking me to join him at the Gas Station where he was entertaining a recruit with Dallas.

 _Austin: No. I stink and my head aches. I could get you drunk on my leftover fumes. U never told me Dallas could drink entire gallons of booze wo damage._

 _Me: He's always had a hard head._

Dallas could drink an entire team under the table.

 _Austin: I need to sleep now. I'll call you later._

In fact, the next text I get is from Dallas. _I want to apologize to you. In person. Can I come over?_

Does Dallas deserve a chance to say I'm sorry? I suppose he does. But I feel like it's a last time sort of thing. He doesn't get to keep doing this over and over, no matter how long we've been friends.

 _Sure,_ I text back. _But your apology better be good._

 _Dallas: Buzz me up._

I make a face. His demand is presumptuous, but whatever. Might as well get this over with. He needs to acknowledge that Austin and I are dating and that we can all get along.

I swing the door open at his knock. He straightens from the doorframe, looking out at me through surprisingly clear eyes.

"I'm amazed you're still upright. Austin texted me this morning and said he was too drunk to move."

"Yeah, I want to talk to you about Moon, but before we go into that I want to apologize," he says as he brushes by me. He takes a seat on the kitchen and re-arranges the other chair so that it's uncomfortably close to him. Like right between his legs, close to him.

I take the chair and move it back about a foot and sit down. "You think?"

He has the grace to look a little ashamed. "I don't know what came over me. I care about you a lot, and I guess I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I don't want to get hurt either. You know how careful I am in my life and I realize that dating Austin is a risk. But... I can't live my life as if I can't take a blow. You're the one who accused me of sitting in my safe little box, not taking chances."

He winces. "Please don't tell me that my comments pushed you into Moon's bed."

"No, but you're right. I do have a tendency to be too careful. I'm almost twenty-two. I'm graduating in a year. There's going to be failure in my future and heartbreak, whether it's from a job lost or a person lost. Part of being an adult is learning how to deal with that." I reach over and take a sip of the tea I brewed for breakfast. "Austin makes me feel really wonderful."

Dallas' expression grows sickly. I wave my hand downward. "Oh, stop with the disgusted expression. I'm not talking about physical stuff."

Although, privately, I grin to myself, because Austin has made me feel physically more wonderful than I thought was possible. "I'm talking about the fact that he makes me laugh, that he makes me feel good inside. He's interesting to talk to. He reads. Taking a risk on Austin makes me think I can take other risks."

Dallas' eyes run over my face. "You're changing."

"Maybe I am."

"Not for the better," he says.

My hackles rise. "I thought you came over to apologize, not to say shitty things to me."

"The truth isn't a shitty thing to say to you, Alls."

The nickname Austin uses sounds weird and strange coming out of Dallas' mouth, as if he's trying to claim a connection that doesn't belong to him.

"Yes, it kind of is."

He presses his lips together. "All these years you said you wouldn't go out with a jock. That the type didn't interest you."

"They didn't," I insist. "Austin's different. We talk about a lot of different stuff. Books he's read, movies, stuff that's going on in the world."

"We talk about stuff like that." Dallas directs those words to the floor where he's currently staring a hole into the tile.

An uncomfortable feeling sets in.

 _Dallas has feelings for you_ , I can hear Piper and Carrie's voices in the background.

Slowly, Dallas raises his eyes off the floor, and there is so much anguish, all the moisture in my mouth dries up. My hand flies to my lips. "Oh, Dallas," I say through my fingers. _Oh Dallas, don't open your mouth. Please don't say what I think you're going to say, please,_ I beg silently. Our relationship will change irrevocably.

But he doesn't heed the warning in my eyes.

"Ally, I've always thought it was going to be you and me. Always," he says hoarsely, his eyes penny-bright.

His statement makes me angry. Angry because he's changing the dynamic of our relationship into a form I'm not prepared to deal with. I want to clap my hands over my ears and say I can't hear him, but I just told him I was growing up. So I have to act like the adult I claim to be.

"You've never acted like that. You've had so many girlfriends. And when you don't have girlfriends, you're constantly sleeping with someone else." Not to mention the times where there's considerable overlap. "You practically screwed girls right in front of me. Those aren't the actions of a guy who thinks I'm his one and only."

"I know." He thrusts a hand into his hair. "I wanted to enjoy being young and playing the field while I could. Kind of get all that shit out of my system so when I settled down, I wouldn't have the urge. But I always knew you and I would end up together."

He says it again, as if by mere repetition it will become true. It's the most insane thing I've ever heard, and I tell him that. "That's crazypants. You can't do that and expect me to look at you in anything but a friendship light. In fact, you're lucky I've known you so long. I overlook a lot of really crappy things that you've done because we've been friends since third grade, but I... I could never love you that way." It hurts me to say those words to him, but he's forcing them out of me.

Dallas rears back as if I've slapped him. He looks at me with wounded eyes that flood me with guilt. "But, Ally, we have been friends forever. I know everything there is to know about you."

"I'm sorry, Dallas, but you don't." This is so hard. I wish I wasn't an adult. I wish I could run from this room and stick my head under my pillow and pretend this was not happening. But I force myself to gut it out, knowing it'll be over. I'll mourn this relationship but, in the back of my mind, I must've known it was coming because I'm not surprised. Frustrated, resigned, angry. But not surprised. I've just never wanted to acknowledge it.

"If you truly knew everything there was to know about me, you wouldn't have treated me this way. If you truly loved me, you wouldn't treat me this way. Or if this is how you treat people you love, well," I swallow before delivering another painful truth, "that's not going to be good enough for any girl."

I rub my dry lips together. He sits there like a stone. I don't know what he's thinking. Re-evaluating his definition of love? Wishing he'd never shown up here? If I'm honest, Dallas and I have been growing apart for a long time before Austin ever appeared in my life. I told myself that he was busy with football and my path took me in an opposite direction, but the reality is we had less and less in common as we grew older.

I don't know if telling Dallas this would help him, but I give it a shot. "We aren't the same people we were in third grade. There's no way we could be. If destiny meant for us to be together, we would have been together a long time ago, but I've never felt that way about you, and if you search your heart, you would know that the same is true for you. You don't love me, Dallas. I'm not the one for you. I'm your... safe option." That felt right when I said it. It's even there in his words. I'm his fallback option. Maybe he uses this so-called love for me to stay emotionally distant with the girls he's with. But he's never loved me. "I swear to you, you would not act like this with a girl you loved."

His eyes turn from pained to flinty, and I try to brace myself for whatever horrible thing that's going to come out of his mouth next. I'm learning Dallas has a nasty mouth on him.

"And you think Austin loves you?" Dallas laughs harshly. "That he would never cheat on you. That he would never look at another girl with... lust in his eyes."

And that uncomfortable feeling I had before? It seizes me by the throat. I watch in horror as Dallas pulls out his phone. I don't want to see it. I want to close my eyes and pretend whatever he's going to show me doesn't exist. Whatever happened last night doesn't exist. If I don't see it, I can go on in my own little world believing Austin was worth the risk.

Dallas lays his phone on the table and the picture is so clear and so big I can't not see it. I bite my lips together as Dallas flicks his finger. It's a slideshow of my worst fears.

"All these years you've friend-zoned me." His voice is quiet. Ominous even.

"I never friend-zoned you. We were friends. Are friends," I correct when his eyes narrow at my Freudian slip of the past tense. "True ones," I mumble almost absently as I stare at the pictures.

Dallas' voice falls to a whisper. "You fell for Austin Moon. A blockhead. His best friend is a guy named Dez. Their favorite thing to do is get loaded and bang jock chasers. Their hobbies include liking Instagram posts of chicks at out of town games. He's an idiot."

"He reads Harry Potter," I defend, almost by rote.

"So he read one fucking book a year until he graduated."

Austin has women on either side of him. In another photo one of them is kissing his cheek. Dallas flicks his finger again. Austin's looking down adoringly into the brunette one's eyes. Flick. The brunette is kissing him on his lips. Flick. Austin's hand is outstretched trying to prevent the picture from being taken, but there's a lopsided smile on his face and he's still looking at the brunette.

Dallas' finger stabs at the table. "No matter what he promises you, this is what he does. I don't know what happened last night. I don't know if she's still there this morning."

I swallow again, but there's nothing in my throat. It's dry, and every time I gulp it's like swallowing sand. The tiny bits and pieces scrape and tear fissures into my tissues that grow and grow and grow like the cracks in the desert's crust, until every part of me is torn asunder, only held together by a slender film of skin.

Dallas is relentless. "How come you're not over there right now? I know when I'm drunk, I'm horny as fuck. Do you know if he's alone?"

I stand up, hand Dallas the phone, and pray my tears don't fall. Not until Dallas leaves. "I don't know," I say in a small voice. "But whatever happens between Austin and me isn't your business. You need to go now."

I stretch out my arm and point to the door. It doesn't shake and, for that, I'm thankful. I'll take whatever victories I can at this moment.

Dallas rises, too, but he doesn't leave. "What are you talking about?" He protests. "I just showed you what a dog Austin is." As if the pictures would magically transform Austin into the frog and Dallas into a prince? In addition to being mean, I hadn't realized how delusional he was becoming.

"Get out." My arm is getting so heavy.

"I'm saving you heartbreak here."

"Get out!" I scream. "Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out!"

I push at him until he starts moving, and I keep pushing and slapping and repeating my high-pitched demands until he's on the other side of the threshold.

"Don't call me. Don't text. We're done." I slam the door shut.

"You're shooting the messenger," he shouts through the closed door.

Ignoring him, I pick up my phone with shaking hands.

 _I'm coming over,_ I manage to type out, but I don't press send. No. That would give him time to put her in some suitcase.

* * *

I get dressed in a hurry. Dallas has thankfully taken off. I swear if I saw him, I would kick him in the balls. Twice.

And then in the face. Despite the distance between Austin's house and my apartment building, the time flies. Or rather, I do as I sprint toward the Playground. The snow crunches under my boots. I almost lose it around the quad because someone forgot to salt a small patch of ice. But I make it to his house in one piece.

Panting, I don't even pause to knock on the door. Oh no. I fling it open because these assholes never lock their doors.

Dez's sitting on the sofa.

"Hey, Ally." He gives me a wave.

"Better give your boy a ten-second warning, because I'm going in," I yell as I race upstairs.

The last thing I see before reaching Austin's door is Dez's shocked and confused face. I wrench on the knob and throw the door aside. It bangs against the wall. The lump on the mattress barely moves.

I storm over to the bed and rip the covers back... to reveal a hungover Austin wearing clothes from the night before. I can tell it's the same clothes because it's so clearly obvious he slept in them.

The T-shirt is practically twisted around his neck. His jeans are pulled down far enough that I can see at least half of his underwear-covered ass. His left foot is bare but the right one still has a sock hanging off it. It looks like he managed to toe one of them off and got halfway done with the other before giving up.

I stumble backwards, nearly dizzy with relief.

He lifts his head and there are creases on his cheek from the sheets.

"Alls." He smiles happily and pats the bed beside his body. "I was just dreaming about you."

I ignore his invitation and walk over to his desk, collapsing in the rolling chair situated in front of it. My heart is beating so rapidly I'm afraid it's going to jump out and flop onto the floor like a dying fish.

"It's too much for me. You're too much for me," I gasp out.

Austin struggles into a sitting position and gives me a lopsided smile. "Too much what? Greatness?"

For once his teasing doesn't come off as funny, but irritatingly arrogant.

"I can't do this anymore." I bend over and place my head on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I feel weak and sickly. Hot and sweaty. It's either I'm crashing or I'm experiencing physical side effects of my heartbreak. Maybe it's some dangerous combination of them both.

"Do what?" he asks in bewilderment.

"I can't take this risk with you anymore. My heart can't take it." I rub my palm across my chest as if I can eradicate the pain with enough friction.

I don't know whether the pain is forming because I'm breaking up with Austin or because I dated him in the first place. I always knew this day was going to come. He's going to hurt you was number one on the risk assessment. But stupidly, foolishly, I'd kept decreasing the weight I'd afforded that particular item on the list.

The truth is you can't really prepare yourself for what it feels like because you never know how much anything hurts until the wound is inflicted. Until the knife is in your belly.

If I stay with him, he'll only hurt me more. Just like my mom hurt my dad over and over.

I sit up and stare at him, into his precious hazel eyes that I know I'm going to be seeing for years when I'm dreaming. When I'm just sitting and drinking coffee, I'll see them. In that cloudy space right before I fall and asleep and right before I wake up, I'll see him. It's going to take a long time to get over him. A long time.

What did I expect, though? This is how I knew it would all play out. Oh, I didn't have the exact scenario right, but it all ended the same. Safe may be boring, but it sure as hell isn't as painful.

"You and me, Austin. We're done."

"What... what happened? I told you," he stutters. His brain isn't firing on all cylinders, and it's taking him a moment, or five, to catch up. "I told you I wasn't going to talk to you about Dallas anymore."

Still not with me. I lay it out as plain as can be. "Dallas took some pictures of you kissing a girl last night."

His face moves from confusion to comprehension to anger. "Alls, I was drunk off my ass last night."

The careless statement, the accusation that lurks behind his words that I'm the unreasonable one here, only fuels my rage. I feel myself shaking and this time I know it's because of him. Because I took a chance on him and he was supposed to understand this. He was supposed to act like he cared.

"I don't care that you were drunk! If I was drunk, I would not be out kissing someone and getting my picture taken. That has never happened to me in all my years here at UF, in all my years of drinking." I fling my arm out. "Even the night I drank so much my freshman year that Piper had to call 911 because I went into a coma, that didn't happen. I danced. I drank. I passed out. I didn't press my lips against some random person!"

"I didn't ask for her to kiss me. I didn't want her to kiss me," he insists. He swings his long, powerful legs over the side of the mattress and for a moment I'm distracted. His shirt is still askew, framing his defined abs like a half-drawn curtain. My eyes are drawn to the light dusting of hair that arrows from his belly button into his groin.

My mouth becomes dry for another reason.

He's so damned sexy, and for a moment, my resolve wavers. I cover my eyes so I can't be tempted anymore. A spot of self-loathing gets mixed into the cocktail of churning emotions, and suddenly, I'm just so tired. I want to be done here. I push to my feet and force my explanation out.

"I know you didn't, but the point of the matter, Austin, is that your lifestyle is only going to get worse when you go to the NFL. There's only going to be more women, more road games, more time for me to worry. Every sports blog, every forum, every newspaper is full of stories of pro athletes screwing around on their wives and their girlfriends. I don't want that to be my life, and, really, you deserve someone who's stronger than me... who isn't as afraid of risks as I am," I finish drearily. I'm disgusted at myself. At Austin. At Dallas. It's an ugly reality that I'm facing. I don't like myself much right now, but at some point, I've got to protect myself.

"So you're doing this for my own good is what you're saying?" Austin's own anger is beginning to fire.

I've burned through anger and now I'm swimming in regret.

"You can take it whatever way you want."

"How big of you," he growls. "This stuff you're spewing is some of the worst bullshit I've ever heard. If you don't want to be with me, then have the balls to say it outright. Don't be mealy-mouthed about it."

I can barely get the words out, but I say them. "I don't want to be with you."

Austin stands up then, a giant in his room towering over me. Angry is too soft of a word for what's on his face. I've never seen him like this.

His words come out sharp, like a knife, and ice cold. "Get the hell out of my room."

Unlike Dallas, I don't have to be told twice. I race out of there so fast that I'm sprinting by the time I hit the main floor. Dez's standing at the base of the stairs, but I can't muster up even a polite goodbye.


	19. Chapter 19

hey guys! i'm incredibly sorry for leaving the last chapter like that! i swear that it won't be the end of austin and ally.

thank you so much for your reviews, i love reading them!

this is not one of the best chapters but the ones coming will be better. enjoy! x

* * *

Ally

It feels like my insides have been scooped out by a melon baller and filled with acid. I go home and cry my head off.

"This calls for ice cream," Piper says darkly.

Carrie holds my head against her chest.

Neither of them judge me. Neither of them tell me I'm a fool for breaking up with Austin, no matter that I cry so hard I become dehydrated.

Two weeks pass, but my phone remains silent. I have no idea if Dallas is still calling or texting because I've blocked his number. I don't block Austin's because I still want him to call me and convince me I was wrong in my risk assessment, but he never does.

It's hard to believe that in two short months, Austin made such an impact on my life. He was like a meteor, a hot flash of delight followed by a huge crater of destruction.

I throw myself into mock trial, but it doesn't consume me the way it has in the past. Every time I enter the practice room, I can still feel Austin in the back, his eyes glowing with pride.

Elle's reverted to sucking, but I can't summon the energy to correct her even though we have only two practices before regionals.

When she stands for the third time and approaches Sun Hee on the witness stand without permission, I fear Miles' head will come off.

I try to prevent the impending explosion.

"This is like a game of Miles Says but instead of 'Captain, may I,' you say, 'May it please the court.'" I stand up and demonstrate. "May it please the court."

Miles nods smugly from his position on the makeshift bench.

Elle rolls her eyes. "May it please the court," she repeats.

"You may proceed, Ms. Elle," Miles intones. He's enjoying this far too much. I flick a glance to Elle, who's rolling her eyes. That's better than her itching to hit Miles, so I lean back.

"May it please the court, may I approach the witness?" Elle says.

I wince at the awkward phrasing.

"No," Miles interrupts loudly. "Say 'May I approach the witness, your honor.'"

Elle slams her hand on the side of the table. "You just told me to say 'May it please the court' every time," she hisses through clenched teeth.

"No, we told you to ask for permission," Miles glares back. "It's redundant when you say 'May it please the court, may I approach.'"

"This is fucking stupid as hell!" Elle yells and storms out.

I drop my head to the desk and wonder if I can go to sleep now and wake up sometime after I've graduated.

"Can we take a break?" Sun Hee asks.

"Yes. Take a break," I mumble against the table.

"We shouldn't even go to Regionals," Miles remarks as he slides into the seat next to me. It's a week away. I don't bother to lift my head, which Miles takes as permission to keep complaining. "I don't know why you asked her to join us," he snipes.

I finally do raise my head to glare at him. "You were there. Don't try to pretend you weren't. She had the best closing of everyone who tried out. She was fucking moving. I think you were near tears."

He averts his face. "I was not."

"Liar."

He sighs and swivels back to face me. "You could have done it. You could do the closing just as well as anyone."

"Not really." This time it's my turn to look away. I stack my already neat pile of papers and tap them so their edges are all perfect.

"You know what your problem is?"

"Gosh, Miles, that question is such a fun one to hear and to answer. I've got so many faults, though, we'd be here all night listing them all." I curl up the edges of the papers and fantasize about smacking Miles in the face with them.

"Your problem is you don't take enough chances."

My stomach clenches at his accusation. "I took a chance on Elle."

He scoffs. "That's not taking a chance. That's you hiding again."

The team files in before I can respond, but his criticism burns as hot as if he held a flame under my chair. As I watch everyone take their places, Sun Hee on the witness stand, Miles back behind the two desks we set up to be the judge's bench, Elle at the table opposite me, I wonder if Miles is right.

Is that what I'm doing? Hiding behind Elle? Behind Dallas? Do I use all these excuses so I don't get hurt? So I won't fail? Do I take the easiest path? And pretend that makes me happy?

"Ahem," Elle clears her throat next to me. "Are we going to do this thing?" She gestures toward Sun Hee.

"Yes." I try to shake off Miles' hurtful words. "Yes, we're doing this thing."

The rest of the team springs to action, and we make it all the way through the trial without stopping. None of us corrects Elle's errors, or our own for that matter. We let it all slide. I'm too tired, still stinging from Miles' rebuke, and too heartsore to really care.

"We'll take a ten-minute break and do closings," I say after finishing with the last examination. Beside me, Elle looks fresh and invigorated as if the last two hours weren't completely draining. "Elle, I have some notes I typed up-"

"No, thanks," she interrupts me. "I've got this. In fact, we can start now if you want."

Miles wiggles his eyebrows at me, but I'm still angry at him to join in any of his games.

"Sure." I slump against my chair. Anything for this practice to be over.

She stands and strides confidently toward the open space in front of the fake jury box. She extends one hand toward Miles. "May it please the court? Opposing counsel?" The other hand floats toward me. "Women and men of the jury. On behalf of my client and co-counsel, we thank you for your time. The right to trial by jury is as fundamental to this country as owning a gun or the right to vote or the right to practice one's religion. It's in both the 6th and 7th Amendments to the Constitution. By sitting here today, you are upholding the very document that created this country."

Her reference to the Constitution is smart. I jot a note to make sure she includes it every time. Elle proceeds to tell the room full of weary students exactly why her client was victimized by a callous corporation seeking profits over safety.

Her rich voice, unhurried, weaves a tale of a hard worker, taken advantage of by a shoddily designed product that was inevitably going to hurt someone. In this case, that someone was our client.

By the end, we're sitting there with our mouths hanging open, and I, pretending to be the counsel for the manufacturer, want to throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness.

After her last thank you, the entire room is silent until Miles releases an awe-filled, "Damn."

And he keeps repeating it as our teammates jump out of their seats and rush Elle. They clap and smile and hug her. Every mistake she's made, every insulting word she's said, it's all forgotten.

And seeing my whole team embrace her makes me feel even shittier than when I thought we were going to send another losing team to Regionals.

"What?" Elle demands. "Why are you looking at me like that? Did I fuck up again?"

"No. Everything was perfect." And it was. Everyone performed flawlessly. Elle remembered to ask the court for permission. I didn't screw up any questions on direct. All the witnesses looked either smart or vulnerable or, in the case of Sun Hee, both.

"She's just in shock," Miles jokes. "Want to run through it again?"

"No." There are thirty minutes left in our practice time, but I want to leave on a high note. "We're ending early."

The team whoops with joy. Even Miles, who ordinarily wants to stay longer, is excited. He leans down to give me a quick hug goodbye and gives Elle a kiss on the cheek. She shoos him away and soon it's just her and me.

"Need something?" I ask as I gather the materials together. Evidently she wants to talk and if there was ever a time that I didn't want to deal with Elle's shit, it would be now.

I'm emotionally tapped out. I kind of just want to go back to my apartment, cover my head with a pillow and cry for a few hours, as I've done nearly every night since I broke up with Austin.

"Yes. I want to know what I did wrong tonight. You haven't said more than two words to me. I want to know if I'm fucking up." She juts out her chin pugnaciously, as if physically preparing herself for me to bust a fist across her chin.

"You aren't fucking up."

"I know I didn't set that cross-examination up right. That I didn't get her to admit she was under oath before asking her to read from the deposition."

"Yeah, it's okay, though. That's a small error. Do you want to run through it right now?" I pull out the deposition.

Elle pulls it out of my hand and sets it behind her. "No, I want to know why you didn't call me on that bullshit during the practice. You would have any other night."

"You were in the groove, and it didn't make sense to interrupt you." I decide Elle can keep that copy. I can print out a new one. I shove everything else in my backpack, but before I can close it, Elle's hand reaches out and rips the bag out of my hand.

"Something's wrong." If it were anyone else, I'd say there was concern in her voice. But this is Elle. Despite some evidence to the contrary, Elle is focused on herself alone. In some ways, I really admire that. She's a sophomore, a year younger than me, but has the drive, determination and direction that people ten years older lack.

I reach for the bag, but she shoves the bag under the desk and plants her ass on the seat. I'll have to crawl underneath her to get it, which sounds as appealing as running nude in front of the Playground.

I lose my temper. "For the past ten weeks, you've treated me like a nuisance at best and a demon who hates you at worst. Every time I've given a suggestion on how to improve, you've snapped my head off. Now you want me to confide in you?"

Elle waves her hand dismissively, as if the past few weeks of contentiousness haven't happened. "I don't want to be your friend, but I want to win this competition, and I know that if you're not on top of your game, we aren't going to win, so if talking it out is going to help you get your head out of your ass, then I'm all ears."

"Gosh, Elle, with that kind of invitation, I don't know why I'm not barfing out all my emotional drama to you," I say sarcastically.

"Aha! So something is wrong," she says as if she's won something. But hasn't she? I denied something was wrong. She kept pressing until I lost my cool.

I can't keep in my surprised laughter. "Aha? Yes, Ms. Perry Mason, that was a pretty perfect cross-examination."

Elle flushes. "I am getting the hang of things, aren't I?"

"Yes. Yes, you are," I agree. "Which is why I didn't correct you even though you didn't ask Sun Hee if she was under oath at the time of her deposition just as she was under oath now."

"Ahh, that's the phrase." Elle snaps her fingers. "I ask to approach the witness, wait for permission, and then ask the witness when she testified previously if she was under oath."

"Right. That way you get her to subtly acknowledge she was either lying then or lying now."

"And how many points do I get for impeaching the witness?" she asks.

"At least one full point, and they'll lose points, so it's a win/win for us."

"Does that happen often?"

"Rarely."

"Bummer." She pushes her bottom lip out.

"On the plus side, you know how to do it now." I hold out my hand. "Can I have my bag back?"

"No. Not until you've told me what is wrong."

"I can fight you for it."

"But you won't because you believe in being patient and kind." She taps the backpack with the heel of her foot.

"I don't like you very much right now." I stare at her in frustration. Elle's completely unaffected by my growing irritation.

"As if that's different from any other time."

Oh hell, why not. I throw my coat down and take a seat across from her. "You remember Austin, right?" He'd come to a few practices.

"Did I suffer amnesia? Of course, I remember fuckboy."

I stand up. "We're done now."

"No, come on, sit down," Elle pleads. "I know I suck at this. Give me another shot." I don't move. "Please," she says.

"What's wrong with you?"

Elle shrugs. "I don't know. I have no filter. My dad is a no-bullshit kind of guy, and he doesn't tolerate any filter at home, so I'm a bitch." She laughs, but it's a bitter one. "But the ironic thing is that he dates these... babies who talk like babies and act like babies and everything that comes out of their mouths is fake and childish, but it's me that he hates. I'm doing this whole thing to show him that I'm exactly what he made me."

Jesus, that sounded awful. I sit down.

"So it's guy trouble," she muses.

I nod slowly. "Yes. It's guy trouble." She makes a winding motion with her hand. I heave a sigh. "I have a guy friend, and he was angry I'd been seeing Austin."

She interrupts. "Can we have names or identifying marks?"

"Identifying marks?" I query.

"Yeah, like this one guy I slept with had a mole on his neck so I'd call him Spot and this other guy I slept with had a square head so I'd call him Frank."

"Short for Frankenstein?" I guess.

"Exactly. So you have Austin and who?"

"Dallas. Dallas and I have been friends for a long time. He just busts out with the friend-zone accusation when he finds out I've been sleeping with Austin. But Austin apparently can't keep his hands to himself. Dallas took pictures of Austin being drunk and handsy with another girl."

The latter accusation is a bit unfair to Austin, but there's a ring of truth to it. I don't trust him. I never really did, looking back. When he said he was falling for me, I was too afraid to give him the same reply in return, even though I knew I was under his spell from the minute he tossed me the aspirin packet.

Still, I know he didn't exactly cheat on me, and even though he's not here, I'm impelled to clarify things. "Okay, that's not fair. He didn't cheat on me. He was drunk and another girl kissed him. Pictures were taken and I felt like a fool when I saw them."

She tips her head to one side and then the other, as if assessing the quality of my reasoning. "Are you saying he didn't respect you?"

I think about it. "No. It's really his life. He's super attractive. He's literally one of those guys that every man wants to be and every woman wants to be with. When he goes out to a bar, women are all over him. And even if he tells them he's taken, they still push themselves on him, hoping to convince him otherwise."

"How is that his problem? I mean, other than he can do a better job of projecting his 'taken' status."

I shake my head. "It's not his problem," I admit. "It's mine. I told him it was my problem."

"So you didn't break up with him because of anything he did. You broke up with him because you're weaksauce." Elle chops me down to my knees with a few matter-of-fact words.

But she's not wrong. "Yes."

She shrugs fatalistically. "So you're weak. At least you admit it."

It's the ugliest description I've ever had applied to me, but I can't dismiss it. It's the truth. I didn't believe in myself more than I didn't believe in Austin.

"Your lack of confidence is why you can't do a closing. You know that, right?" she prods.

"Yes, I know that." I can't do a closing because my throat shuts down. "It's a version of stage fright."

"Which you could overcome if you actually believed a little bit in yourself. Take it from me. If you don't believe in yourself, no one will. Think I'm standing here because my dad's a big supporter? Hell no. He wanted me to marry one of his junior partners." My mouth drops open in shock. "So if I did what my dad always wanted, I'd be married, with two kids, no education, wondering which strand of pearls I should choke myself with before my husband comes home smelling like his secretary. I believe I'm better than that. Better than most people, frankly."

She reaches under the chair and pulls out my backpack. "You'd be a lot better in everything if you said, 'Fuck what anyone else thinks of me,' and just do whatever the hell you want."

"I don't operate that way." The words sound like sanctimonious bullshit the minute they leave my mouth. "Fuck, okay." I scrub two hands down my face, but the scorn on Elle's expression doesn't change. "I know I lack confidence and that's why I don't do closings. I stick to the stuff I am good at. That's not being a coward."

"So knowing you're chickenshit is a good excuse? I'd rather suck at something and keep trying than just quit."

I lose it. I jump to my feet and point an accusing finger at her. "I am not a quitter. I stuck with this team even after I crashed and burned. I have never quit on anyone."

"Oh really? I bet Austin would disagree." She throws the backpack into my chest.


	20. Chapter 20

sorry for not updating earlier! with so many disastrous events going on i did not want to post anything. enjoy! x

* * *

Austin

I'm not real proud of how I handled myself with Ally, but what's a guy supposed to do after he lays bare his heart and the girl stomps all over it with her sharp, pointy heels? She told me she didn't want me, and I was tired of trying to convince her otherwise.

I'm not a masochist. I don't do pain without reward- Christ, I'm starting to think like her.

In the past, whenever I've had stress in my life, I've coped with booze, weed, and chicks. During the season, it's almost solely chicks because of the random drug testing, and because unlike Dez and Dallas, I can't drink like a fool and still get up the next day and do fifty burpees without puking halfway through the set.

Learned that lesson freshman year.

So that's what I do again. It seems like the perfect antidote after being told I'm not worth some neurotic girl's time.

Dez and I cruise the local town bars, staying away from the Gas Station, on the shaky premise that I'm tired of UF coeds. Dez wisely says nothing as I pick out and discard woman after woman after woman.

I've ridden this amusement park attraction for three years and the thrill is entirely gone. It's not just that my dick is dead in my pants but that I can't even summon a smile for these pretty women.

"If you keep growling at these ladies, I can't go out with you anymore," Dez declares. "You're a shit wingman and your conversational skills are lacking. I'd have a better time with a potato."

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter and throw back another shot.

Dez eyes me with caution. "You may want to slow down there, brother. That's the fourth shot you've had in less than two minutes."

I roll the empty shot glass in my hand, wondering how my perfect life went to shit in under two months. "Worried I'm going to ralph all over your new shoes? Promise I'll save it for the entire O-line tomorrow."

"No, I'm worried for your liver. You've drank enough this past week to move past pickled and into mummification." He gestures for the bartender, who hops right to. He's a fan. So many fans in here. The one person I want to be a fan? Isn't, of course. Because that's how life apparently works for me now.

The team that I love is in shambles. We can't work out at the same time now because half of us hates the other half.

The girl I thought I loved threw my declaration, something I've never said to any female other than my mom before, back in my face.

My streak of Academic All-American semesters might be in jeopardy because I can't concentrate for shit. And because I'm too hungover to haul myself to class. In January, the profs were lenient. We had just won the National title. In March? Apparently they care if you show up thirty minutes late to a fifty-minute lecture.

These past couple months have shown me one thing. Success is fleeting. Enjoy it while you can.

A glass of water appears like magic in front of me. I look up with a scowl. "This is not booze."

Dez claps me on the back hard enough that my chest bumps into the edge of the mahogany bar. "Fucker, that hurt." I massage my chest, wishing the pain inside could be so easily rubbed away.

"Good. I was worried you were too numb for this." He reaches out and slaps his open hand across my face. It's not a hard blow. My head barely moves when he makes impact, but the shock of it? The sound of flesh striking flesh? I jump up, forgetting momentarily where I am and who just hit me. My fists come up because my fight or flight instinct? Definitely, one hundred percent fight.

I swing, and then sense or God or something sets in and I check myself inches away from Dez's unapologetic face.

I drop my arm to my side. "What the motherfucking hell?"

"You need to wake up," he says simply.

"I have no fucking clue what you're talking about." I slide back onto the bar stool and clench the glass of water between my hands so I have something to do other than punch Dez's lights out. One of my best friends. I hang my head. What is wrong with me?

"Haven't you had enough?" Dez reaches past me and taps the rims of all my empty shot glasses. All eleven of them. I swallowed two within seconds of ordering them, the third by the time Dez ordered his drink and then four more in quick succession. I wasn't paying for them. They kept appearing in front of me like a cartoon version of shots where there's no bottom to the booze and the glasses multiply magically. So I drank them.

"Don't know. Why don't you hand me the one at the end that's full and we'll see if I'm still upright?" I gesture toward the end of the row.

"Is drinking really making you feel better? Because we've been drinking every night this week and I'm beginning to feel overstuffed. Kinda like how your pants are too tight right around the time that the second NFL game starts on turkey day."

"Because I have a dick, I'm not allowed to be sad about something?" I snap. Someone starts playing Buckley's "Hallelujah," the saddest dirge about how cold and broken love can leave you. Nice. I grab the last shot glass and down the contents. My throat's so numb I can't even feel the burn as the liquor slides down my throat. I'm going to have to switch to whiskey.

"You aren't sad. You're feeling sorry for yourself. You're moping around like someone took your football away. On the field, you're awesome, Austin, but off of it? You're letting everything fall apart. I don't know exactly what went down between you two but I can guess. And she might be a stone-cold bitch and you're better off shot of her. But at some point, you gotta stand up and work for something off the field."

He rubs a hand down his face. "I don't know why I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

It's the disappointment in his voice that finally penetrates my thick, dumb skull. "Football gives back what you put into it. The rest of it, like Buckley's saying." I wave my hand in the general direction of what I think might be the jukebox although it might also just be a bunch of boxes of empty beer bottles awash in neon. "Love just ruins you."

"Bullshit."

"What?"

This is Dez. Who loves football. Whose entire wardrobe consists of UF T-shirts, shorts, and workout gear. I knock my hand against my ear. Did he just call bullshit on the only true and reliable facts of our lives? Football is it.

"We both know I'm not going pro. Most of the guys that play at UF won't ever even get to sniff the turf at a pro stadium unless they're paying to be there. That's why I took this job writing articles for a woman's magazine. You think it's funny as hell, but this is going to get me a good paying job when I graduate."

Dez grabs my shoulder and forces me to look at him. "This thing with Dallas? It's not even about winning anymore. It's whether we're going to enjoy playing together. Austin, fuck, this is our last year. I don't want to go out wondering what if, and regretting the time I spent. Even if we don't win another title, I still want to know that I gave it all I had because I was playing with the best motherfuckers in the world. I don't like saying this, but you kinda need a wakeup call. Is it possible she had a good reason for kicking your ass to the curb?"

 _You aren't a good risk._

She'd known it all along, and I'd laughed it off. Because on the field, I'm reliable as they come. Off of it, I duck anything close to responsibility. It's not that I mind a challenge. Challenges are fun. But conquering a challenge isn't the same as shoving on a pair of shitkickers and getting down in the trenches into messy, dirty, uncomfortable things.

The night we took our recruit out, I got drunk rather than stick to my own rules of no booze, no chicks.

I wasn't thinking of Ally that night. I was thinking of myself.

I was a good lover because it reflected well on me.

I pursued Ally because it was fun... for me.

It's always been about me. Even when she broke up with me, I didn't see things from her point of view.

We were even in this random joint twenty miles from campus because I didn't want to be around Ally.

I feel sick, and it's not because of the liquor. The acid of self-disgust is mixing with all that booze, and I can feel it climbing upward.

"I need the john. Where is it?"

Dez sizes up the situation immediately and starts pulling me through the crowd. People scatter in the wake until my drunk ass is in the bathroom. I barf up the shots I'd been pounding since I arrived like I was participating in some cheap Spring Break contest. Guy who drinks the most shots in two minutes gets a free chaser of beer and a card with the local ambulance number on it.

I wipe my face with toilet paper. Flush three times and then dunk my head in the sink. After I wash away any residue and hopefully some of my dumbassery, I grab a handful of paper towels and run them through my hair.

"What do you want to do?"

"Me?" Dez points to himself.

"Yeah, we've been doing my crap all week. What do you want?"

He ponders this. "There's a redhead out there who's been eyefucking me. I wouldn't mind doing him."

Okay. "Here or back home?"

"Here. Definitely here."

Which is how I find myself sitting on the dingy barroom floor, directing people away from the men's room for thirty minutes while Dez and the redhead enjoy an energetic and sometimes noisy interlude.

* * *

The next morning, we're greeted with some unwelcome news. Because of our inability to get along, according to Coach Simmons, we're shipping off for a "retreat." We're sent home to pack our bags, which means I can't go over to Ally's place like I need to. Like I want to.

I debate texting her, but that's a low-class move and one that doesn't have much chance of success anyway. Over the phone, via text, it's easy for her to ignore me.

If I'm going to apologize, I need to do it in person.

Tensions in the locker room are high as we gather our shit. Players are chirping at each other and not in a fun, friendly, busting your balls way. Rupert tells Devin that he's slower than molasses off the block and snidely wonders whether the incoming freshman center is going to replace him. The two get into a shoving match right in front of Dallas, who leans back and watches the interaction as if it's a goddamned sitcom.

The team is falling apart.

Yeah, it is. And Dallas isn't going to save it. So it's me or nobody. Dez gives me a _whatchu doing about this mess_ look. I make a face because once I stand up, that pretty much means I can't pummel Dallas into the small ball of dust he should be reduced to.

Responsibility kind of sucks donkey balls, which is why I probably avoided it for so long.

Shooting one last annoyed glare in Dez's direction, who gives me an irritating two thumbs up, I rise to my feet and stride over to where Rupert and Devin. l have their arms interlocked like two combatants in a WWE match.

"You two think this is a dance class?" I bark out. Devin's head jerks around because he's not used to this from me. Rupert tries to take advantage of Devin's inattention but I'm able to shove them apart.

"I'm sick and tired of you all fighting about this. We are a goddamned team. Let's act like it." I turn to Dallas. "Bro, I'm sorry. What's going on with you sucks balls. But you're wrong. I have never once said to Coach that I think you should be anything but our QB. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what I say. What I do." I wonder how many people know I'm talking about more than football.

"Coach has moved on. We can either fight with each other or fight for each other. The first option means we lay eggs on the field. We lose and we lose and we lose. I'm not going to like that much, and I don't think any of you will either. The second means putting aside our feelings about what's going on with Dallas and moving forward. For about twenty of us, next season is our last. We can look back at it as a lost season, embarrassed by how we went out, or we can look back on it with..." I search for the right word.

"Joy," Dez offers.

"Yeah, joy. Thanks, man." We bump fists.

He winks and gives me a thumbs-up.

I walk over to Dallas. None of these guys know how he wronged me, but there's a strange kinship between us, created by the fact that Ally broke both our hearts.

"I forgive you, man." Dallas' eyes grow wide with shock as he stares at my outstretched hand. I extend it even further. "For the sake of this team, I forgive you."

Dallas' hand rises slowly, as if he doesn't really want to shake my hand but something deep and decent within him, whatever it was that called Ally "friend" for all those years, pulls it up, inch by motherfucking inch, until his palm is against mine. Our handshake is brief. We will never be friends, but the sad truth is that Alls was right.

No one forced all those shots down my throat. I didn't have to get so messy drunk. I didn't have to stand so close I could feel the line of the girl's underwear press against my jeans-clad leg.

If I'd seen Ally kissing some guy, her eyes glassy with booze, and his arms around her body, I'd have been enraged. And maybe if I'd had the same past as hers, the same fears, I would've been done, too.

So I forgive Dallas for burning the cord tying Ally and me together because I lit the match.

I leave Dallas then and turn to Rupert and present my hand to him. He knocks it away and lifts me in his arms.

"I love you, bro," he shouts. My ears ring for hours. There's a round of handshakes and bone-breaking backslaps and even a few more hugs before we get back to the basics of football-strength and conditioning.

* * *

On the ride up to the hotel Dez peppers me with questions about Ally. He says it's because he's concerned. Privately, I think he's doing research on another article.

"How're you going to approach this? Like, are you going to say sorry first or are you going to make her say it?"

"What do you think I should do?" I parry because I have no fucking clue what to do. I've never been in this situation before, chasing after a girl who's rejected me more times than she's said yes.

"What does she want?"

"Fuck if I know."

"Then you're not winning her back."

Thanks for nothing Dez. "I told her that I loved her."

"There's your problem."

"What's my problem?"

"Your belt's gotta match the shoes," Dez says.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I grind to a halt and put my hands on my hips.

"Means your actions gotta line up with your words. You gotta do the love stuff if you mean it."

"Did you read that in your women's magazine?" I ask suspiciously.

"No," he perks up, "Do you think that's an article I should suggest? Top ten ways to show her you love her?"

My lips quirk up in a half smile. "Yeah, that's probably a pretty good article."

"Shit, I should have written it for Valentine's Day instead of the 'Best Ways to Give a V-Day Blowjob.'" Dez slaps me hard on the back. "Don't worry. I know you're going to win her back."

And Dez's belief in me actually fills me with relief. I am going to make this right with her. I did it with the team, and I can do it with her as well.

Failure is no option here.


	21. Chapter 21

Ally

"I have a cold coming on," Elle says ominously as she pulls into the hotel parking lot after dinner. Even though she hates her old man, she doesn't mind the things he buys her. The Mercedes coupe is so luxurious, I nearly cried when I took a seat the first time.

"Tell the cold to stay away. Believe it away, Elle."

"You mock, but deep down you know I'm right. We rocked today."

We did rock. We've rocked all weekend and now we have only one match left before we can crown ourselves Regional champs and claim our spot in the national tournament next month.

"We were pretty awesome," I admit. I roll my neck from one shoulder to the other. Despite our wins, I'm still tense. You would have thought I'd be euphoric by now, but I'm not.

Elle puts the car in park and then pulls down the mirror to inspect her face. "Do I look pale to you?" She turns to me.

"No, but if you don't feel well, you should lie down."

"I feel sick."

"It's called nerves," I explain wryly. It's somewhat heartening that Elle has some. For a time there, I felt like she was impervious, a hardened shell built up as a defense against her dad's careless neglect. "Tomorrow's the Championship round, and you're feeling what commoners call anxiety."

"Could be." She looks doubtful. "I think we should do something to really psych ourselves up for the big match."

"You just said you felt a cold coming on? Shouldn't a good night's rest suffice?" I sounded like a fifty-year-old mother already. I should've bought a pair of orthotic insoles at the drugstore along with some menopause medication.

"Or-" She snaps her fingers and smiles brilliantly-evilly almost. I narrow my eyes in suspicion. "We could go on a road trip."

I know immediately what she's talking about. "No."

"I heard a certain football team is having a retreat an hour away."

"No." Except this time my no isn't as firm because I miss Austin so much. I want to see him, but I figured I'd get the tourney out of the way and then throw myself at his feet and beg for him to take me back.

I'm not sure of my reception, and I didn't want to suffer a crushing "no" blow right before competition started. If I'm lacking confidence, that wouldn't be the way to go about gaining more.

But, as Elle knows because Dez waited for me outside of our last practice, _does everyone know my effing schedule?_ , Dez thinks Austin would forgive me in a heartbeat. Since then Dez's been texting me.

 _Dez: Austin's a good guy._

 _Dez: I was there. He didn't touch those girls._

And...

 _Dez: Alllllllyyyyyyy. Not saying he misses you, but if you don't come soon, he's gonna turn into a pickle._

Pickle? I assume that's due to heavy drinking. But regardless of his preserved status, Austin has not texted me once. Or called. Or showed up anywhere he's showed up before. Even Ethan noticed it at Starbucks, asking where the jock crew was. I pretended I was too busy making foam angels to respond.

"Come on, Ally," she cajoles. "You know you want to. Plus, you getting back together with Austin would make you soar tomorrow."

"Soaring isn't a thing. Soaring is what happens to your brain on some quality molly, not from confronting your ex."

"Dez's his best friend. He wouldn't be texting you if he didn't think you had a chance."

"Maybe Dez's playing the long game and this is Austin's revenge. They get me to show up and then I'm confronted by a full-on orgy in the living room. Dez jumps up, 'Surprise, bitch! No one here really misses you, but if you want a piece of Austin, you can stand in line behind hoe number two.'"

Elle smothers a laugh. "Do you always skip to the worst-case scenarios?"

Probably. That's what you do when your entire life is one risk assessment after another. "Even if I did want to go, I'm sure it's a closed, players-only thing. They only do these retreats when there's real problems and they want to get everyone on the same track."

"I wonder if you have anyone in your contact list who might be able to help you. Let's think, hmmm." She taps the corner of her mouth in mock thoughtfulness.

"I'm not calling Dallas."

"Hmmm."

"Or Austin."

"Mmmmhmmm."

"This is totally irresponsible," I say as I pull out my phone.

"Mmmm."

 _Me: Dez, it's Ally. I'm an hour away. Would Austin see me?_

Dez replies before Elle can hum again. _Thank Fucking God. I was Googling 'how to hold an intervention,' and that shit don't sound fun at all. Zero fun, Ally._

 _Me: What about your coaches?_

 _Dez: Get your ass here. I'll worry about the coaches._

I stare at the phone for a minute while Elle drums out the beat to The Replacements' "Can't Hardly Wait."

"So we going or we spending tonight wishing we were somewhere else?" she asks impatiently.

I put the phone face down. "We're going."

She starts the engine and backs out of the parking lot.

* * *

"Ally?" Austin's expression is one of surprise and not the joyful you've made my ever-loving week surprise, but more of the _what the fuck are you doing here_ version.

"I'm..." Here to apologize, to admit that I totally overreacted and that I'm trying to start taking all those risks that I keep saying I'm going to take but never do, but I already feel so vulnerable and stupid hiding in his closet, I can't bring myself to blurt any of that emotional stuff out. I settle for, "I'm here to see you."

"It's a closed practice," he says. Practice isn't the only thing that's closed. His face is a solid wall of nothing. I can't read if he's pleased to see me, pissed off, or annoyed, but I'm tired of ducking under the hangers in the closet.

I gesture behind him. "Do you mind letting me out?"

He steps aside but doesn't change his expression. I stumble out of the closet with as much dignity as possible. The small hotel room doesn't offer me many options but I'm too uncertain of my welcome to sit on his bed and afraid of what he'll think if I sit on Dallas' bed. I can't believe the two are being forced to room together.

I opt for the small, uncomfortable desk chair. "Mind if I sit?"

He exhales slowly, and my heart flips over unhappily as he ponders my request. He's not sure if he wants me to be here long enough for me to sit down. I plant my ass anyway.

"In my head, this went a lot smoother," I offer.

"How so?"

"Um, I guess I throw up my arms and say 'surprise,' and you say, 'Alls, you're a sight for sore eyes,' and then I respond with, 'you, too.' After we get those awkward, trite greetings out of the way, you haul me into your arms and give me a movie star kiss. We pretend it's raining and that we're at the end of a Nicholas Sparks movie and you swear your undying devotion."

"According to my mom, everyone dies at the end of a Sparks movie, so my devotion appears to be short-lived."

"True, but the promised love is undying, so even after your ticker gives out, the devotion lives on."

I swear I see his lips twitch, but he sobers up quickly to reply, "I think you've got plenty of undying devotion in your general vicinity."

"Is this about Dallas?" I ask.

He doesn't directly answer the question. "Where is my wonderful roommate and does he know you're here?"

Dallas' face was frozen when Dez laid out the deal to him. He slapped the key into Dez's hand and stalked off. Uncomfortable is an understatement, but if I want Austin, and I do, then facing down Dallas' icy stares is just going to be something I'm going to have to deal with. "He's with Dez and yes, how do you think I got in here?"

Austin raises his eyebrows and all the other times he's come back to a hotel room with a naked girl rushes through my head. "Don't answer that." I rush forward and place my fingers against his lips.

I've heard these stories from Dallas, and they don't paint a pretty picture of my gender. Or him, frankly.

For a second I can feel his lips press against my fingers, but he backs away.

"I think before we go any further, we need to talk."

You know it's bad when the guy says those words.

"Can I go first?"

"All right." He tilts his head and waits.

This shouldn't be so hard. Wasn't the hard thing coming here? I take a deep breath and let it out slow. Austin's gaze is steady, not welcoming but not frosty either. "I never told you why I'm so risk averse."

He arches a brow. "Thought it was your stage freight."

"It is and it isn't. I don't think I ever told you, but I live in Miami."

"I know."

God, he's not making this easy on me. "Oh?"

"Yeah." He finally decides he's done standing and leans a shoulder against the wall. "Dallas is from there, and you and him were friends as kids."

"Nice deductive reasoning."

"You're stalling." His words are terse, his frame is tight. I need to get on with my story.

I rub my sweaty palms together. When giving an opening or closing, the most persuasive part of your argument is the facts. Plainly stated, no frills. I go that route.

"My dad, Lester, has his own music store. When I go home, I go to my dad's house even though my mom lives only twenty minutes away. I talk to her once a year, at the most. Dad makes me go to her house on Christmas. Her parents died when I was a baby and her only relative, my uncle, lives in Washington State. So unless I visit, she's alone." I grab the water bottle that has a tag that says it costs $2. I rip off the cap anyway. It's worth it. I feel like I'm dying here under his impassive stare.

"It's always awkward as hell. We make small talk. She almost always has a new guy by her side. Most of the time I don't even bother learning their names because they're temporary. She told me once she sees herself as a butterfly. I'm sure she meant me to interpret that as her being beautiful, but I kept thinking about how she can't stick with one guy." I swallow. "It kind of ruined my dad for a while. She tends to ruin a lot of things, like Dallas' family."

Something like comprehension starts flickering behind his eyes. "Do I need to sit down for the rest of this story?"

"I don't know. Watch a lot of soaps? You might be able to guess it." I try to smile, but talking about this is always so painful. Most of the time I try to forget it.

He pushes off from the wall and comes to sit down on the mattress closest to me. His long hands dangle between his thighs. I wish I could crawl into his lap, but I inject some steel into my spine and fast forward to the pertinent parts.

"After Dallas and I met in the nurse's office, our families got to know each other. My mom and his dad, in particular. When Dallas' mom confronted the two, his dad just kind of shrugged. 'Fidelity is for suckers', I think, are the exact words he told Dallas. My parents didn't get a divorce, but they separated. Mom's lived in a different house than me since I was ten. Her home is a revolving door of unhappiness." I exhale deeply. "Screwed up by mommy is a tired excuse, but I guess it's why I was scared."

"Christ," he says after a long silence. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah, really, really fucked up." The distance is too much for me. I screw up my courage and walk to him. Once there, I drop to the floor between his knees, place a hand on either side of his thighs and look up with regret in my eyes and my heart in my throat. "I'm sorry I told you I didn't care. I do care. So much, and it terrifies me, but if you give me another chance, I'll prove to you that I'm worth the risk."

His eyes flutter shut. A gasp escapes me as the pain of rejection starts spiraling out from my center. But before I can take another breath, he sweeps me into his arms.

"Oh Christ, Alls. I thought you'd never get here."

"You knew I was coming?" My voice is muffled by his chest, but he hears me.

"Dez hinted. I tried not to get my hopes up."

"You jerk." I wrench back and slap at him, my fingers hurting when they land on rock hard pecs. "I can't believe you left me hanging there."

"I needed it," he admitted. "I'm not proud of that, but I needed to hear from you that you wanted me as much as I want you. But honestly, if you hadn't acted, I would have pursued you."

"Why the hardass act?"

"I was nervous. Are you really mad that I didn't chase after you?"

"No." I shake my head with relief. "I did the breaking up. I was the one who had to do the patching back together."

"To be fair, in my head, when you pop out and surprise me, you're wearing a lot less and there's a fake cake around you."

I crack a smile. "Really? A cake and a birthday suit?"

"I'm a simple man, Alls." His smile fades a bit. "My turn."

My brow crinkles in confusion. "Your turn what?" If he's forgiven me, I'm ready for make-up sex.

"My turn to apologize. You were absolutely right that I shouldn't have gotten so shitfaced that I put myself in these situations. You're right that I would have been livid if I'd seen you drunk off your ass and some guy feeling up these curves." His hands run roughly up my sides, as if he's imagining the scene and not liking it very much. "I wish you hadn't broken up with me. The past few weeks have been zero fun."

"For me, too."

His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head. "But you weren't wrong to do it, so there's nothing for you to ask forgiveness for. Having said that, I'm willing to play the hurt party who needs all his wounds kissed and licked."

"Alright." I don't need to be asked twice.

He reaches down to grasp the hem of my shirt and tugs it up over my head. I lift my arms so he can remove it completely. He scoots back until he's leaning against the headboard. "Climb up here." He pats his lap.

I place a knee on the edge of the bed, but he holds out his hand. "Wait, take the pants off first."

As I ease down my jeans pulling my panties with them, his eyes grow slumberous. He reaches out until his hand curves around my butt. His warm fingertips dig slightly into the padding while his thumb runs down the hipbone to the crease where trunk and leg meet.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," he says huskily.

I let the jeans fall to the floor and kick them away. Then, with confidence born of his undisguised lust, I straddle him. I flip my hair off my shoulders with both hands and cup myself.

"Is this going to make up for the lack of a cake?"

His hazel eyes gleam. "You bet your ass it will."

"What do you have in store for me?"

"How much time do we have?" His big, rough hands draw circles around my back, pulling me closer to him with every pass.

I struggle to remember the details. "The competition starts at one tomorrow. I should be out of here by nine."

He leans forward and bites my shoulder before saying, "You're going to need a little sleep. I want you to kick ass tomorrow, so I'll go easy on you. But the minute you step back onto campus, I want you in my bed for a solid twenty-four hours."

"No," I beg, "please be very hard."

We both laugh at my juvenile joke until I reach between us to cup his hard shaft. The sound of him sucking in his breath as I stroke him through his sweatpants puts an evil smile on my face.

His eyes are mere lust-filled slits. "You're going to need to do the hard work because my ribs are sore from practice."

"Too sore? I could just give you a hand job?"

He rolls his eyes. "That's about the most ridiculous thing that's ever come out of your mouth."

I know what the man wants, and I want to give it to him. I want to totally rock his world.

* * *

Austin

She pushes out of my clasp, but before I can protest, she's on her knees, pulling my cock out of my pants. I tip my head back and close my eyes because the sight of her down there is making me want to come before her mouth is even on my shaft.

Then her mouth surrounds me, and with my eyes closed, the sensation of hot and wet is the only thing in my head. My balls tighten, and I pinch my nose in frustration. I do not want to come right now. I want to enjoy this for just a second longer. Please, for the love of God, where is my self-control?

Her warm, wet mouth pulls away.

"Is something wrong?" she asks. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"Oh, Ally, no." I groan. "It's so fucking good, I'm scared I'm going to come in the next ten seconds and I want it to last. Not like hours, but even a couple minutes longer would be amazing.

My incoherent ramblings make her laugh. "Maybe you should lie back." She takes my cock in one hand and cups my balls with the other. "Because this is going to be the best blow job you've ever had.

"And miss the show?" I sweep her hair back. "No fucking way."

"You have a beautiful dick," she murmurs and rubs her face along the side of my shaft. I practice deep breathing exercises.

"You have a large frame of reference?" I choke out.

"Naah. I just like the look of it and generally I think penises are gross, but yours is..." She pauses to pet it, one hand on the bottom holding it while the other hand strokes lightly along the top. This is some new kind of torture, I think, but I love it. "It's strong and interesting. So hard and so soft at the same time." Her fingertip runs along the edge of the hood, and my eyes roll back into my head.

But that's nothing to the sensation that roils through my body when her mouth is back on me. She rubs my shaft along the roof of her mouth, cradling my cock with her tongue as it slides toward the back of her tight throat. Her soft hand cups my balls, rolling them gently, perfectly in her palm.

I grip the side of the chair, and my toes curl into the carpeted floor. Each pass of her mouth is more erotic than the last. She hums, and the vibrations make my entire body shiver. I'm harder than the concrete steps of the stadium. Between the suction of her mouth, her wicked, wicked tongue, and her deft fingers, I have no defense. A eunuch would have erupted in her mouth a minute ago.

Sweating and shaking, I push her away. She moans in protest but I shake my head. I tug awkwardly at her bra, while one-handing my aching erection. Her eyes widen, but she understands what I want and whips off her shirt. Her creamy breasts are bound together in a sweet-looking lace number.

I send her a silent word of apology, and with three swift jerks paint my come all over her chest. The milky white seed spurts onto her delicate collarbone and pools in the valley between her tits. The sight of it makes me hard again.

"I would have swallowed," she says in a slightly piqued tone.

"I know, Alls." I pull off my own T-shirt and regretfully wipe off the come.

A sharp, surprised laugh sparks out of her. "Seriously?"

I pull her off the ground and onto my lap. "Well, it was also hot as hell coming all over you, so there's that."

"I think your sperm would have been fine. It's full of protein, right?" I shrug. I have no idea about the nutritional content of sperm.

If I was a blushing man, I'd probably be red-faced at this but as it is, I'm too horny to concentrate on anything but getting Ally out of her clothes and onto my bed.

"Speaking of good nutrition," I tell her, "I'm going to waste away if I don't get my mouth on you."

She blushes. "Is that right?"

"Never a truer word have I spoken," I declare.

I take her on the desk. I sit her pretty ass on the edge of the shitty hotel room structure, spread her legs and devour that delicious pussy until her nail marks score against my skull.

"You are way too good at this," she whimpers, and I suck on her clit like the sweet candy it is, enjoying the breathy moan that escapes her lips until her whimpers turn to pleas and then escalate into sharp, staccato cries as she creams all over my tongue.

I surge to my feet and then I'm inside her, sliding between her quivering thighs, into the hot clutch of her sex until I'm fully seated. I grab an ass cheek in each hand and hold her, suspended above the desk, while I hammer into her, steady, long, hard strokes.

She places a hand on the wall behind her and plants the other on the desk and meets every thrust with one of her own.

"I lov-"

"Don't say it," I order through gritted teeth. "You say it and I'm not going to last long enough for you to come, and you know I love it when you come. Do you know how good it feels when you come around my dick? I can feel every ripple, every flutter. It's the sexiest goddamn hug a man can get."

Her eyes glitter, and I see her mouth form those words again. The ones I didn't think I'd get to hear again. And because they're what I need and she's so beautiful and irresistible, I lean closer to hear them, even though I know they're going to set me off.

"I love you, Austin Monica Moon." Her smile is wide and joyous when she says it, as she pushes me over the cliff.

"Fuck me. I love you, too." Even as the orgasm shoots down my dick and fireworks detonate in my brain, I keep pumping and miraculously, she comes, too, gasping, clutching, and loving me all the way over the same, wonderful edge.


	22. Chapter 22

so this is the last chapter before the epilogue, i hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

Austin

"Finally." I rub the back of my neck as the last straggler out of the hotel throws his bag into the back of the car and climbs into the back seat.

It took Dallas and me forty minutes to round everyone up. It was worse than herding cats. Twelve guys forgot something in their rooms. Thank God for Ally, because she helped run around, count heads, and generally get everyone's ass in gear.

Eight guys left their playbooks in their rooms and three had forgotten equipment on the field. One of them had some chick in his room. He couldn't remember her name and she took about ten minutes to find her phone and dress.

She probably thought she was being cute as she crawled around with her thong and his T-shirt draped like a scarf around her neck, but Dallas and I just wanted her ass gone. By the time we were done chewing out Rupert for breaking yet another rule, he was tired of her act, too.

But here we are, all thirty of us shoved into eight cars, SUVs, and vans, and ready to go.

I slide into the driver's seat and put the Rover in gear. Is this what the captaincy is all about? Riding herd on a bunch of college football players who think they're above the rules? I sigh when I realize that I used to be one of those guys. Back then I screwed around as much as anyone.

I had chicks in my room when I wasn't supposed to just like Rupert. I was always forgetting something whether it was my jock, my shoes, or my phone. I thought by showing up to practice and then playing my heart out on Saturday, I had faithfully discharged all that was expected of me.

What an asshole I was to assume that I could lead on the field without worrying about stuff off the field. There's a big difference between being a teammate and being a leader.

"Uh, Austin, we've got a problem," Dez says worriedly from the backseat.

"What's that?" I glance up in the rearview mirror.

He holds up a black case. "I think I took your Ally's papers by mistake."

My head jerks back so fast I nearly break my neck.

"What? How did you get that?" Our eyes clash in shock and dismay.

"I don't know. This morning I came in to get my playbook and must've swept it into my backpack."

"Holy shit."

"I know." He sounds miserable and in the rearview mirror I can see him cradling his head in his hands.

"Holy shit," I repeat. "What time is it?"

"Ten," Nigel supplies. He's the only calm one in the entire vehicle.

I do some quick calculations in my head. If I drive to Georgia from here, it's three hours there and then eleven hours back home. I'll never make it back in time for curfew, not even if I flew. I reach into the console and throw the phone at Dez. "You search out the closest car rental place." I point to Dallas. "You text Ally right now and find out if she has any extras."

"She doesn't," Dallas says. "She's never made copies just incase someone gets it and exposes her ideas."

"Text her anyway." Because we need to know.

Dallas pulls out his phone and punches something in.

"Dez, what's the word?" I call back. My foot eases off the gas and I switch to the right-hand lane so my sudden snail's pace doesn't piss anyone off.

"Man, the closest rental place is two hours away." We exchange sick looks in the mirror. Every mile I advance is a mile farther away from Ally.

She drove out of her way to come to me when I needed her and because of it, she's going to suffer? No way. Not on my watch. "Call them. Book a car."

"Would it be faster to fly?" Nigel questions.

"No, closest airport is four hours north. He'll be back at UF by the time he'd get on a plane." This comes from Rupert in the back. They must all have their phones out now.

"She says that she's currently freaking out. Supposedly Miles had memorized most of their argument."

There's only one way to solve this for Ally and that is to get the papers to her. I can be there in three hours. "Dez, how are you doing on getting me that rental?"

"You'll never make it. Ally's first match is at one. It's already fifteen minutes past the hour. By the time you get the car rented and on the road, it'll be like two or three. You won't have the time."

"I will if I speed."

"You got to be back by curfew tonight." We have a 10 p.m. curfew because of the spring ball game tomorrow. It's a televised event. A shit ton of boosters will be there, and it could make a difference in what our pregame ranking will be in the fall.

"And I'll make it. I'll go and drop off the kit and turn around and come back."

"That'll give you zero hours of sleep and you'll play like shit," Dallas notes.

"So I play like shit. Do you have a better solution?"

Dez pauses and I look up in the mirror. All of the guys look back at me. "If you turn around right now, you'll get to Ally before her match."

"And what? You guys will hitchhike back to UF?" I scoff.

"No. We all go with you." Dez stretches his long arm past my seat and out the windshield. Ahead of me, the caravan of vehicles carrying all the starters and number two players on the depth chart are signaling left to take the off ramp.

"What the hell, Dez?" I flick my eyes up to the rear view mirror again.

He holds up his phone to indicate he texted the other cars. "You need to get to Ally. She ran around this morning, knocking on doors, getting everyone up. When Rupert forgot his playbook, she went back and retrieved it from the hotel. Plus, you're our captain. Our ship floats or sinks with you."

I look at Dallas, who's staring out the window. We don't move without him. He's still pissed at Ally. He hasn't gotten over the fact that she chose me. That it wasn't that athletes weren't her type, but that Dallas wasn't. He might have been able to have her if he hadn't treated all the women in his life like dirt.

But he had. She saw it. While she loved him like a friend, she couldn't ever love him like he wanted, like she loves me.

Part of him wants her to twist in the wind. I can see it his face.

"Do I drive on or get off at this exit?" I ask grimly.

Dez doesn't give him a chance to answer. "Turn at the exit. Dallas and Nigel can go back to UF," he says with utter disgust.

"No way. I'm coming with the team," Nigel protests.

"And you, Dallas? You with the team?" I ask softly.

He waits a heartbeat longer and then sighs. "Yeah, I'm with the team."

* * *

Ally

"Fuck, my throat is raw." Elle flexes her jaw. The hoarseness in her voice makes me wince.

"We shouldn't have gone last night." Now that the drug that is Austin Moon has worn off, I see the foolishness of my decision.

"Stop stressing out about it," Elle scolds me. "The drive didn't make me sick. It's been coming on all week."

"You should've rested up."

She rolls her eyes. "I did rest up. I was sleeping while you were screwing Austin. If we hadn't gone, you'd have been worthless. At least now you can concentrate on the case."

"Right." I pace nervously.

My sweaty palms, racing heart, and lightheadedness could be because I'm nervous.

"I have to use the bathroom."

"Jesus, it's like the third time this hour," Elle complains. Even though she's lost her voice, she still manages to eke out a bitchy comment. Classic Elle. I flip her off and walk slowly toward the girl's room.

Nothing comes out of me when I sit down. I flush, stand up and nearly fall backward into the bowl. I'm going to have to tell Miles and Elle and the rest of the team. My fear of being in front of audience has never escalated like this.

Would Miles be able to carry on? Would we have to forfeit? God, that alone makes me want to puke and cry. We're so close.

I push my way out of the stall, ignoring the shakiness of my hand. I wash, dry, take another sip of my juice and go find Elle and Miles.

"I don't know if I'm going make it," I admit when I find them.

"You're probably feeling like a piece of shit because of your nerves."

Elle agrees with Miles. "You need to do this."

"I can't."

"You have to." She grabs my clammy hand. "You know this case better than anyone. You wrote all our examinations. No one is better suited to this than you. Just stand up there and own the courtroom. Believe you're better and what happened to you freshman year won't happen again."

"Is this some Tinker Bell shit? Believe?" I scoff.

"Hey, that bitch is earning billions in royalties what, a hundred years after her creation? You should dial back on your critiques of her. She might be basic, but she knows what's what."

Miles and I stare at each for a moment and then burst into laughter. Only Elle would call a fairy who can make people fly basic. We laugh until we can't stand, leaning against each other until we end up on the floor on our asses.

And that's where Austin and what looks like the entire football team finds us, on the dusty floor of the high school that is hosting the competition, laughing like a couple of loons while Elle stands over us, tapping her expensively shod toe near our heads.

"Austin, what are you doing here?" Wordlessly, he hands me my reports for the match. "Did you drive out of your way to bring me this?"

"Of course he did," Elle interjects with exasperation. "How else would he get here?"

"That basic bitch Tinker Bell?" Miles suggests and I start cracking up again because this situation seems utterly absurd.

Austin reaches down and hauls me to my feet. Over his shoulder, he says, "I think she's loopy."

Elle smirks. "The show must go on."

"Good thing you're sick or I might have to punch you in the face."

Elle flaps her wings and Austin drags me away as if he thinks I'm serious.

I'm feeling awful because my nerves are about to overtake me, the same ones I suggested that Elle suffered from yesterday. Oh, the hubris.

"You're going to do fine," he says, rubbing my arms.

"Do not give me a half-time inspirational speech," I order. The last thing I need is some rah-rah-rah about being my best.

"Sure. We can go to the bathroom and fuck away your nervousness."

I mock punch him, but I can't say the idea doesn't have appeal. Maybe we'd spend too much time in there and then Elle will be forced to go on with Miles. The judges will feel sorry for us because Elle's so obviously impaired and-

"I was actually just kidding." Austin brings my runaway-train thought process to a halt.

"What if I open my mouth and I can't remember anything? Again."

He shrugs. "So what? You already went through that. You survived. If it happens again, then you know you're not cut out for this sort of thing. But if you don't try, then you'll always wonder. That sort of wistful regret isn't something you want hanging around."

The matter-of-fact delivery of his risk assessment helps calm my nerves. And frankly, it's not like I have a choice because Miles can't do this on his own, and Elle's clearly too ill to go forward. I can either try or sit out here in the hall and hate myself forever for being a coward.

Yesterday, when I was hiding in the closet, there were a dozen different outcomes that kept cycling through my head, from Austin literally tossing me out into the hall to him joining me in that small space. The last one is ridiculous because not only is he too big to fit in that closet, but because why would we have sex in a closet when the bed was five feet away? But being stuck in a closed space for a half hour gives one plenty of time to come up with silly scenarios.

Despite the harrowing moment in the beginning when he wouldn't smile at me, the rest of the night was one blissful reward. I grab onto that for courage.

Austin bends his knees until he's eye-to-eye with me. "What are you thinking?"

"That last night's risk was worth the reward."

"That's my girl." He dips toward me and gives me another reward. A long, hot wet one.

* * *

Austin

"How's this work?" Dez whispers in my ear.

"I don't really know." I've only picked up bits and pieces from watching Ally. "There's lawyers and there's witnesses and something called oral arguments."

"Oral." Dez snickers into his hand. Nigel nudges him and wants to know what's so danged funny. Dez whispers something behind his hand and pretty soon the entire side is sniggering.

Ally turns around from the table and glares at me. I hold up my hands to show her I'm innocent but Christ, we're a bunch of guys. The word oral kind of sets us off. I slice my hand in front of my throat, and the guys try to compose themselves.

"All rise, the honorable Cristal Cain is presiding."

Three people stream in from a side door and take a seat at the front of the room behind a barricade. Like the mock trial team is going to rush them or something? I guess it looks official. Like a smaller, lower rent version of Judge Judy's courtroom.

Fortunately for all of us, we're told we can be seated. I take a moment to ogle Ally's ass as she brushes her hands down the back of her skirt when she takes a seat.

Then I notice Dez staring at it, too. I give him a hard elbow to his side.

He returns a helpless look that says she's hot and it's there.

My return look says keep eyeing her ass and my fist will be the next thing you see.

He merely shrugs.

"Quite the audience we have today," Judge Cain mentions.

"You think she's a real judge?"

"Nah," I whisper back. "She's not wearing the black robes."

"But would they for a competition?"

Good question. "No idea."

A paper drops at my feet. I lean down to pick it up. I unfold it.

 _SHUT UP!_

I show it to Dez. He hands it to Nigel and the note makes a trip around the back of the room.

Judge Cain runs down how the competition plays out. The plaintiff, that's Ally's side, goes first with their three witnesses. There'll be a short break and then the defendants, archrivals from Central, a college with a shit football team, goes next. The two parties will then have closing arguments.

"I thought you said it was oral argument," Dez whispers.

"I guess I mixed it up," I whisper out of the side of my mouth. I swear she used that word once or twice.

"Will the team from the University of Florida introduce yourselves?"

Miles rises and says, "Yes, your Honor. I'm Miles James." He holds his hand toward Ally, who's sitting in the middle between him and the girl Ally can't stand-Elle Even though she can't speak, she's going to sit at the table and take notes and some shit like that. "And I along with my co-counsel Ally Dawson and Elle-"

We all start cheering and whistling. In the back of the room, someone starts chanting. _Ally. Ally. Ally._ Must be Elliot? Gavin, maybe?

Judge Cain bangs her gavel on the desk. "Order! Order!"

"Order!" Dez crows. "Shit, this is just like television." He shifts in his chair to get more comfortable. And like on television, it looks like we're getting a talking to.

The judge leans forward, and not entirely unkindly, but definitely with a certain amount of sternness, says, "This is not a sporting event and we don't allow cheering. At least not until the event is over. If anyone believes they will have difficulty abiding by that, please feel free to use the exit doors at the back."

There's a few random coughs along with some murmurs. I stand up and find myself staring at Dallas, who is on his feet, too. He looks at the offense and I stare down the defense until there's utter silence.

Then we both sit down.

"All right. Thank you, gentlemen. You may proceed."

Miles introduces Elle again and then his client and sits down. The other team does the same.

Afterwards, Miles is instructed to come forward and give opening argument. Dez opens his mouth again, but I shake my head real slow until he shuts it.

The case Miles presents is fairly simple. Their client, Sun Hee, manages a local ice rink. They have an ice resurfacer or Zamboni, although theirs was manufactured by ICE and not the Zamboni company. Who knew Zamboni was a brand name? I learned something and I'm not even in class.

Sun Hee was working, and one of her underlings, Miles calls him an employee, was driving the resurfacer when it stalled. Sun Hee came over to check things out and the resurfacer took off on her. She tried to stop it by hanging on to the machine. She was able to steer it into a barricade but ended up breaking her leg. ICE had documents that showed the machine's clutch had a tendency to slip from neutral into drive and the machine would move even when the brake was on.

An "ooooh" rose up from the football team at the mention of these documents. A wave of the gavel had us all zipping our mouths closed.

Miles tells the room how Sun Hee's life went to shit and she wants some money so she can replace all that she lost.

Which sucks. Hard. What if she'd been an athlete working a part-time job? I want ICE to write out a check by the time Miles sits down.

The other side gets up and explains that the broken leg was sad and unfortunate but that jurors are supposed to decide things on facts and not emotion. Good luck on that. People are driven by emotion. It's why we have locker room quotes up on the wall. To motivate us into crushing weak opponents.

The attorneys for ICE tell us that Sun Hee caused her own accident by using the machine that she knew was faulty. Plus, she was irresponsible with her money, buying a house, a new car, and not saving anything. That's a good point.

By the time ICE's attorney is done speaking, I'm not sure how I feel. And by the way Dez and the rest of the guys are leaning forward, they're just as conflicted.

Both sides put on evidence. Both sides are pretty damned good. As we near the end, I can see Ally letting the tension get to her. She's gripping her pen so tightly her knuckles are turning white and I'm starting to worry she's actually going to snap her spine if she stiffens any more.

The last piece of evidence gets offered and the defense "rests," which I guess means they're done because the judge starts telling everyone there will be a five-minute recess before closing arguments start.

Many of the guys take this opportunity to piss. I sit behind Ally as she remains at her table, head bent, absorbing the words she's going to get up and say.

I wish I could help her. She reminds me of a kicker lining up to make a last second field goal kick from the fifty-yard-line to win the game. No one talks to the kickers before these stress-filled moments, and I won't bug her now.

I do the same thing, though, as I do with those kickers. I send her all the waves of positivity I can. Dez nudges me and makes a tiny kicking motion with his finger. Yeah, we're all on the same page here.

"You may proceed, counsel," Judge Cain orders when we're all situated in our places.

Ally takes a deep breath and then rises. She walks calmly to the middle of the room, thanks everyone and then turns to the jury. There's a long moment of silence. A long one. An uncomfortable one. One that makes me wonder if I should jump the railing, pick her up, and carry her away from here.

 _You can do it, Dawson. I know you can._

She takes a deep breath. And then another. And then, "There's an old Jewish tradition..."

A collective whoosh fills the room as all of us in the back and maybe some at the counsel table release their breaths. Ally's voice, quiet at first, grows in volume with each word. We're all spellbound and after she's done, I can't help but release a whistle.

Which was stupid because everyone starts cheering then. Ally ducks her head into her chin and scurries to her chair. Judge Cain bangs her gavel several times until we stop rioting in the back.

"Your honor, we need a sidebar," says one of the guys clad in blue suits on the other team.

A sidebar is apparently when the lawyers gather by the judge and whisper things. The acoustics in the room are such that we can hear them pretty well.

"That display is completely inappropriate, Judge Cain," hisses the suit. "UF should be penalized."

Ally objects immediately. "I have no control over that. It would be completely unfair to penalize us for something the audience did."

I share a shamefaced look with Dez. Shit, it never occurred to me that cheering would result in Ally losing this match. I feel kinda sick.

"I'm not penalizing UF for the crowd's antics because the jury doesn't decide who wins this case, we do." Judge Cain points to the two people sitting beside her. "And I'm sure you don't believe we'll be influenced by any clapping, do you?" Disdain drips from her voice. She's unimpressed by the dude's complaining.

"No, ma'am." Blue Suit looks at his shoes.

"Then let's finish closing arguments, shall we?"

I hold out my hand and Dez slaps it as we celebrate our girl not getting penalized. Our happiness is short-lived when Judge Cain addresses the room. "As I stated before, there is no clapping or cheering that is permitted during the match. Another outburst will result in a two-minute penalty to UF."

Ally walks back to the counsel table, glaring at us.

I don't even dare make the zipped-lip gesture. Pissy Blue Suit stands up and makes a very passionate argument about personal responsibility that seems to have the judges' attention. They're nodding. Hell, even the jury is nodding. I think he sounds like a cat in heat, with his high-pitched demands for the jury to make Ally's client accept responsibility for her own poor decisions. At the end, he pounds on the railing separating the jury and him, telling them he knows they'll make the right decision.

One of the jurors makes a few clapping noises until she catches wind of Judge Cain's frown. Miles and Elle exchange a worried glance while Ally is scribbling something furiously on her notepad.

"Do you have rebuttal, counsel," Judge Cain intones.

This time there's no hesitation. Ally jumps up. "Yes, your honor." She strides confidently up to the middle of the room, turns to face the jury and says in a chilly tone, "When you have the facts on your side, you pound on the facts. When you have the law on your side, you pound on the law. When you have neither..." She pauses dramatically. Everyone looks at the opposing side, who's glaring so hard at Ally right now it makes me want to laugh. Everyone but Ally looks at him, that is. She's still staring at the jury. Softly, because she doesn't need volume when every person in the room is hanging on her words, she repeats, "And when you have neither, you pound on the bench."

Ally dips her head, turns around, then walks right back to the table and sits down.

It kills not being able to clap at that. Fucking kills.

Judge Cain let us clap after they announced Ally's team the winner.

"You were amazing," I crow when she finally breaks free from everyone who wants to hug and congratulate her. Even Dallas came forward. They gave each other an awkward hug, and I didn't even feel like bashing Dallas' teeth in for touching her. I feel so evolved.

"Thank you!" She hugs me tight, her face pressed into the side of my chest. "I was pretty good, wasn't I?"

Her uncharacteristic boasting pulls a startled laugh out of me. That's my girl. "Best ever," I agree.

"Come on." She lets go of my waist but grabs my hand.

I follow willingly. While we both know I'd follow her anywhere, I ask, "Where we going?"

"I need a victory kiss."

My steps quicken. So do hers. "Oh, yeah? Any particular place you want that kiss?"

"We have to be quick, so on the lips, but I expect my other parts to get action from your other parts."

Now I'm pretty much running. There was a bathroom down here that I spotted when I arrived. From the direction of Ally's feet, we're headed to the same place.

I slam the door open with the flat of my hand and spin her around so her back is against the door. It's the best way to keep anyone from barging in on us.

I'm on her before she can take another breath. I don't know how long we have, but as I hold her jaw in place with my hand, I fuck her mouth as savagely as she'll allow. She greets me with a furious, wild kiss in return. Sucking and tonguing me like the champion she is.

Soon, it's not enough to kiss her. My entire body is shaking with the need to be in her, part of her. I wrench up her skinny business-like skirt and jam a big thigh between her legs.

"Tell me that we're doing more than kissing," I whisper hoarsely as I scatter kisses along her delicate cheek, her strong jaw, and the tender skin of her neck.

"We're doing more than kissing," she confirms. Her busy hands unfasten my jeans. Another second later, my pants are down around my thighs and my heavy, aching dick is in her hands.

"Fuck yeah." I push her skirt farther up and pull her panties down, shoving them to the floor with the toe of my boot. Neither of us pause, even as we hear those panties rip or the shuffling of feet outside the door.

We're too eager for each other, too hungry to care about torn panties, undressing, or outsiders.

I hitch her legs up so she can straddle my waist and take my dick in hand. Her eyes flutter shut as I slide the broad head between the wet folds from her pussy to her clit but we can't spend too much time playing, and from the way her nails are digging into my shoulders, I don't think she wants to wait.

"Now," she orders. Yup. No waiting for her.

I guide the blunt tip to her opening and slide in, slow and gentle so I don't hurt her. Her bare walls grip me tight, eroding my control. The impulse to jackhammer inside her until the back of my head explodes takes over. My hips start thrusting as I work my way into her hot passage.

"Sorry. Fuck." I mutter incomplete phrases, hoping she understands that she's just so fucking hot, I can't stop myself.

She laughs, a breathy sort of chuckle, and grips my face in both hands. Her brown eyes are full of happiness and love. She bares her teeth and squeezes her cunt so hard I nearly pass out. "I want you. I want you to fuck me as hard and fast as you can, Austin. "

Oh, God. Her permission makes me wild. I palm an ass cheek in either hand and do exactly what she told me to because, as she is my girl, I am totally, completely, irrevocably hers.

* * *

Our victory fucking doesn't last near long enough. As soon as we exit the bathroom, disheveled but blissed out, Dez jumps me.

"We got to jet, brother."

Reluctantly, I nod. We were hours past curfew and all of us were going to be toast for tomorrow's spring game.

"I'll see you back at UF, Alls. Love you."

"Love you, too." She rises on her tiptoes to give me another kiss but Dez drags me away before it lands.

"You kiss her again and you'll be back in that bathroom stall for another fifteen minutes," he grouses with his big hand on my shoulder, pointing me in the opposite direction of Ally.

He's not wrong.

As it turns out, we don't even play because when we pull into the Playground, the entire staff of coaches is lined up on the sidewalk waiting for us.

Coach Simmons wastes no time delivering his pronouncement.

"You're all seven hours late for curfew. None of you will play in the game tomorrow. You are all benched. You and you," he points to Dallas and I, "are suspended for the first game of the season. This is my team." He paces in front of us. "Not yours. Mine." He stops in front of Dallas. "Have you made a decision yet?"

The implication is that Dallas better have made a decision and it better be the right one.

Dallas has no sense of self-preservation. "I'll know at the start of summer camp."

Coach swings narrowed eyes in my direction. "And you... where do you stand on this?"

I step up next to Dallas and put my hand on his shoulder. "With my QB. We play, sir, for each other. You call the plays. You help us train. You keep us in top athletic form. Our minds sharp. But we do all this because of our brothers. When we're on the field, the only people next to us are those wearing helmets and pads. For now, Dallas is our QB."

It's dead silent as Coach Simmons absorbs the loss of his team. We may have been his team at the end of the season, but he lost us in his pursuit of revenge or job security. I don't know what's going to happen this fall, but when we hit the field, it won't be with Simmons on our minds. We'll be doing it for each other.

That feels right, no matter how many games he decides to suspend me for.


	23. Epilogue

happy 4th of july to those who live in the u.s! thanks so much for reading and leaving reviews! it's been fun. until next time! x

(i'm extremely sorry that it was so short!)

* * *

Austin

"Coming, Austin?"

"Nah, I think I'll hang here."

"Fuck that. She has your balls in your purse now?" The new sophomore linebacker mocks.

I cup myself. "Nope. Still here. You can get on your knees and check it out for yourself if you're unsure."

Dez smacks the sophomore on the back of the head. "Go get the cab for us, rook."

"I'm not a rookie," the sophomore protests.

"First year starter? Sounds like a rookie to me." Dez shoves him toward the door. Trent comes up behind me.

"We'll watch out for you," Trent says in low tones. "No pictures. No random jockeys."

It wasn't pictures that got me into trouble before, but it's hard to explain to Trent or even Dez because they're still in nail-anything-that-moves mode, which is fine. I totally respect that. I enjoyed that time in my life, but I don't miss it. Not one bit.

"Nah, I'm good." Tonight is the first night of summer camp. We're holed up in some monastery five hours north of the campus. The town is small, but there are a few bars. I have zero interest in going out.

Trent tilts his head. "Between you and Jace, I'm wondering if I'm missing something."

"What can I say?" I spread my hands. "It's good."

It's been better than good. Classes finished up and Ally and I spent a month just hanging around before I had to come back for summer school. She worked, and I met her dad. He likes to play golf in his downtime, which is cool. I'm not much of a golfer, but he was a patient tutor and didn't give me a hard time for being Ally's boyfriend.

I even met her mom, who came off as sad more than anything. She asked about Dallas' dad, and Ally and I left shortly after. I took her home to meet my parents. We spent most of it on the beach where I gave Ally my second present.

It was a bracelet with the moon and the sun that she had been looking at for a while now. Her eyes glowed so bright, I thought she might explode.

Safe to say she loved it.

The guys go off in search of town strange, and I wander back into the hotel.

"Come on." Elliot pulls me toward a conference room.

"What the fuck is this?" Inside the double doors are a few couches arranged around eight televisions and several game consoles. I see a number of guys there... He shoves me onto one of the cushions and hands me a controller.

"Who do you want to be?"

I check out my options. "Princess Daisy."

"Alright." He picks Bowser.

"What is this?" I ask him.

"Mario Kart." He gives me a you're an idiot look.

"I know what the game is, but what is this?" I wave the controller around the room. "And how did I not know about it before?"

"You didn't want to know about it before."

And it occurs to me that this is why the guys who have serious partners are not out getting photographed with a bunch of girls hanging off of them. I shrug and settle in for a hardcore game of Mario Kart, and I have as much fun at summer camp as I can remember.

* * *

Ally

"Hey, Dallas." I only open the door a crack when I see him standing on the front porch. Austin's out back grilling, and I don't really want my Fourth of July to be ruined by a fight between them. Dad's working today to get the double-time pay but will be home tonight for fireworks.

"Can we talk?" He reminds me so much of that sad little boy I found on my steps crying because his dad left. All I knew at the time was that my mom made him sad, and I wasn't going to hurt him like my mom had.

But so much time and so many things have gone on since then, I'm not sure what kind of friendship I can have with him anymore. Still, I can't close the door in his face.

"Sure." I step out onto the porch.

"I... I want to apologize for what happened between us."

A little tension seeps away. "Thank you."

"I'm not going to be seeing you much."

"Oh?"

"You heard of MU?"

I shake my head. "No, can't say that I have."

"It's a football school in Kentucky. Anyway, their quarterback got hurt last season. Tore his ACL and he announced he wasn't coming back. Guess he's a med student and decided that he'd had enough. They've contacted me and offered me the scholarship. No guarantee at starting, but I can compete for the job."

"Oh, Dallas. I'm happy for you." I reach out and grab his hand.

"I know it might be a stupid decision. That I might be throwing away a chance at the pros by not going to safety, but I'd always regret not trying to follow my dream, particularly when one of them closed here."

I don't know if he's talking about me or the team, but I don't ask. It's a question that doesn't need to be asked. But after this past semester, I fully believe in the try it, what's the worst thing that can happen philosophy because oh, Lord, the rewards are so good.

"I'm going to miss you, but if this is your dream, I fully support it."

"Thanks."

"Hug?"

"Yeah."

I wrap my arms around his solid waist and squeeze him tight. He holds me in return. I love this boy as the brother I never had and I try to convey that in my embrace. He gives me a kiss on my forehead and then releases me to walk down my sidewalk and out of my life.

A few tears fall as I re-enter my house. Austin's just inside the door.

"He tell you?"

"Yeah." I give him a watery smile.

"You doing okay?" He draws me into his arms and places his lips on the same spot Dallas kissed.

"I am. I'm going to miss him. He's been a big part of my life."

"Yeah?"

There's a little defensiveness in that word. I lean back and stroke Austin's cheek, which is tenser than usual. "Yeah, but my heart's not going with him. It's here with you."

He loosens up. "I knew that."

"'Course you did."

Austin wraps his arm around my shoulder. "He'll come back to you in a better place."

"I hope so."

"What's this?" Austin leans over the table and fingers the LSAT application.

"I'm applying for law school."

"You can still do that?" he asks excitedly.

My eyes shine with glee. "I can."

"That's fucking awesome, Ally."

"I know."

He wraps both arms around me. "Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know. Part of it depends on where my boyfriend gets drafted. I'd like to attend near him."

If it's possible, Austin's smile grows even bigger. "You have the best plans for the future, Dawson."

"I have a good one for the present, too."

"Please tell me it involves nudity and possibly a bit of whipped cream."

"I was thinking more chocolate sauce and rope, but I can add in the whipped cream. The nudity's a given."

Austin's already peeling off his T-shirt by the time I get my last words out. He looks over his bare shoulder, the action making his muscles bunch in the back. Had I at one time really said I wasn't into muscles? I must have been doped up on some too-serious-sauce. "You coming?"

"I hope so. I really, really hope so."

Then I race forward and jump on his back, and we tumble into my room, ripping off each other's clothes and kissing each other like we haven't touched each other in weeks.

Austin might have been my biggest risk, but he is sure as hell the best reward a girl could ever have.


End file.
